


The Birth of Worlds

by ChinVilla



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Character Death, Family Drama, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Jay Halstead, Hurt/Comfort, Jay Halstead Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27066244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChinVilla/pseuds/ChinVilla
Summary: It had taken the death of one parent to bring years of pent-up anger to the surface, but it had taken a decade and the death of the other for it to dissipate. A story about mourning, healing and a little bit of self-discovery.
Comments: 66
Kudos: 101





	1. When the Gusts Came Around to Blow Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> 'The Birth of Worlds' is a song by the Giant Rooks, my favorite band. Much like the title insinuates, its lyrics are what ultimately "gave birth to the world" that is this story. I highly recommend you listen to the song or at least google the lyrics. It will shed some light on where this story is going.
> 
> I have to admit that I'm nervous to post this. This is only my second fanfiction for Chicago PD, the first multi-chapter story at that. Before I got obsessed with this fandom a few months ago I haven't been writing fiction in probably five years. English isn't my first language either, so please keep that in mind when you read this.
> 
> Before we dive into this, a few notes on the story. This first chapter is a prologue of sorts. It basically just covers a scene from Chicago Med, season 4 episode 3, with some minor changes to the setting. You will understand why those changes were necessary as the story progresses.
> 
> Enough rambling for now. Let's get into this.

They buried Patrick Halstead on October 10, 2018.

A funeral reception was held in McInerney’s Central Chapel. Dating back to 1873 and located at the corner of 46th Place and Wallace Street in the southern parts of Canaryville, it was the oldest funeral home Chicago had to offer. McInerney’s not only provided its service in a most respectful and sensible way to grieving families, but it was also affordable. While money wasn’t a deciding factor, it was the logical and only acceptable choice of a funeral home for both of Patrick’s sons. The man’s roots were in this very neighborhood; he had grown up and lived in Canaryville for all but the last one and a half of his sixty-two years after all. It had also been his wish to be laid to rest here for it would allow him to reunite with his wife.

Jay, however, couldn’t be bothered with any of the reasons why they selected this place. As he sat slumped in the back, alone and unmoving, all he could think about was how his father’s death had missed their mother’s anniversary by mere days. How life had put them here, almost exactly ten years after they had said their last goodbyes to another parent in this very chapel. Both in their early thirties, he and Will were now orphaned with no other extended family to lean on for support. It was just the two of them left.

The Halstead brothers had a catholic upbringing, but with their sad and cruel fate Jay couldn’t help but wonder what they had done for God to make their family suffer like this. If it were only him, he easily would have been able to answer the question. He had killed, taken hundreds of lives in his time overseas, innocent people that didn’t deserve to die, and he would pay his dues with night terrors and nocturnal panic attacks for the rest of his life. But Will? His mom? His dad? They had nothing to do with this, they shouldn’t have to be punished for his sins. His mom had been the most angelic and kind-hearted woman ever known to humanity. Will, while he had lost patients in his career, had never intentionally hurt anyone. Even his dad, who had ridden them hard and never shown affection towards his sons, had been a decent man, working tiringly to provide for his family.

For all the resentment he had held for his father in his teens and throughout the majority of his adult life, he got it now. He understood why his father had always pushed them so relentlessly. Why his father had been so displeased and seemingly unsupportive of either of his sons’ career choices. But now that he could finally see the reasons behind his father’s actions, it was too late to apologize. It was too late to tell him that he forgave him and that he loved him despite every argument, every belittlement, every condemnation, in spite of everything. Jay couldn’t help but become aware of the irony: it had taken the death of one parent to bring years of pent-up anger to the surface, but it had taken a decade and the death of the other for it to finally dissipate.

He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and opened them wide in hopes of pushing the impending tears back down. A wet film remained, blurring his vision as he stared blankly ahead. People were moving around him, but he didn’t pay any attention to them. Most of them were old neighbors, friends, and acquaintances, people Pat used to work with. There had been the initial shock, when Jay had learned how many people would come for his father. He couldn’t remember him ever being an overly sociable man. Then again, he hadn’t talked or paid much attention to his dad in the last ten years.

Needless to say, he didn’t know most of the people that had come, nor did he know any of their names. He didn’t bother asking either. He preferred to stay in his little corner, which had become a silent observation spot for him. One that he didn’t observe from because he was too busy thinking about missed opportunities and staggering regrets. He raised the green bottle to his lips and took a sip, not really tasting the staleness of the beer.

“You okay?” In his haze, Jay hadn’t realized that someone had walked straight towards him. However, he couldn’t say that he was surprised by Will’s appearance, even less by his inquiry. What little time in the last week hadn’t been spent on arranging the service and cleaning out their father’s apartment Jay had spent in the comfort of his own four walls, licking his still healing bullet wounds. He had refused his older brother’s offer to move into his guest room for a while, had stonewalled every attempt at talking about anything other than funeral and inheritance matters and basically shut himself off from everything and everyone.

He lifted his gaze slightly to meet Will’s eyes. There was pain in those hazel orbs, but they were mostly filled with worry. Jay swallowed and averted his eyes for a brief second, knowing that the latter was solely directed at him. “Hey man,” was everything he could say in reply, his voice raw and close to breaking from both emotion and lack of use. Processing his brother’s question, he realized that he didn’t know how to answer him, so simply nodded his head once, hoping to convey everything that he couldn’t put into words with the single notion.

Will seemed to understand as he replied with a nod of his own, accompanied by the faintest of smiles. The corner of Jay’s mouth twitched in a weak attempt to mirror his brother’s, but it ended up looking more like a grimace, so he gave up and stared into space again. The soft tunes of _Dear Old Skibbereen_ started playing in the background, adding to his already spiraling mood.

“Come on.” Will jerked his head in the direction of the crowd that began to gather around the band. Jay took another swig of his beer, then pushed himself up, mindful of his still healing chest and side. He winced at the twinge of pain the movement caused. Will noticed but decided not to comment. Now was not the time. Instead, he put an arm around his younger brother’s back in a lopsided hug, all the while nudging him towards the center of the room. Jay let himself be led and leaned ever so slightly into the touch. Up to this point he had been unaware of just how much he needed the physical contact of another human being. It didn’t seem like much, but Will’s presence lifted some of the tension off him. However, he feared if he allowed himself to melt into the embrace for too long, he might lose the little composure that he was clinging to.

Natalie, standing a safe distance away from the Halsteads, gave him the perfect excuse to step away, thereby permitting his brother to wave her over. He wouldn’t deny the older man the comfort of having his girlfriend by his side just because he himself had been too stubborn to ask anyone from work to attend the funeral. Now, as he watched Natalie nestle into Will’s shoulder from his peripheral, Jay couldn’t help but feel bitter about his own pigheadedness. An all too familiar pain that had nothing to do with the healing bullet wound in his left side settled in his stomach. Even with his brother less than a foot away, he couldn’t remember feeling this lonely since his mother died.


	2. Cause the Life Is Fading Out of Her Eyes, I'll Give It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stayed strong for them all, for Patrick, Will and Jay, and she would stay strong for them all the way to her last breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is divided into three acts. Each act consists of multiple chapters. Act one could be captioned 'pain, grief and death'. It already started with the prologue, but the real journey starts with this chapter. It's set in 2008, so ten years before the prologue. We will jump around exclusively between 2008 and 2018 throughout this act, though there won't be any jumps within the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Title is taken from the lyrics of the song 'Goodbye John Smith' by Barns Courtney.

In Irish mythology there is a legend about a woman by the name of Sadhbh.

Sadhbh was transformed into a deer when she refused to marry the dark sorcerer Fer Doirich. She was reduced to a life of loneliness and constant fear of being hunted, never to be had by anyone else if he couldn’t have her. One of Fer Doirich’s servants commiserated her and revealed that she would have to travel to the land of the Fianna, a band of warriors led by Fionn mac Cumhaill, to break the spell. Sadhbh set out on a brave adventure and ended up being found by Fionn’s hounds, who recognized her as human and therefore spared her life. Fionn brought her with him and once they reached the grounds of his fort Almhui she returned to her human form. Enchanted by her beauty, Fionn fell in love with her. They married and Sadhbh became pregnant not long after, but their happiness was short-lived. Vikings invading their land forced Fionn to go into battle and leave her behind. When Fionn returned, she was missing. In his absence, Fer Doirich had found her and cursed her once more, irreversibly so. While her son Oisín was found by Fionn years later, Sadhbh’s fate remains a mystery.

Whether Sadhbh Halstead nee Ó Flannagâin’s parents had the Celtic folklore in mind when they named their daughter, or simply loved the traditional Irish song _Sadhbh Ní Bhruinneallaigh_ , was knowledge that they had taken to their grave. Maybe they’d just had a penchant for complicated, near impossible to pronounce Gaelic names. But if the mythical creature had played a role in her naming, her parents had crudely sealed her fate. It was a blessing in disguise that they would never find out.

Jay had never really paid the etymology much thought before, but after what felt like the hundredth inquiry about the origin and meaning of her name from multiple doctors and nurses in the hospital, he became irritated with his own lack of understanding. There were only so many variations of ‘I don’t know’ a man could counter with. He needed to find something to quench their thirst. Frankly, he didn’t mind feeding his brain some information other than the medical jargon he was bombarded with lately either.

He would have asked his mother about her name for she was basically an expert in Irish history and culture. She was fluent in the Gaelic language too, even taught him and Will some, but in their youth neither of them had expressed enough interest in their heritage to remember much of anything she had told them. Now, he wished he had paid more attention. The once so eloquent woman was drifting in and out of consciousness in the hospital bed in front of him, rarely awake long enough to answer simple questions about comfort and pain levels. She struggled with simple five-word sentences, anything more complex tired her out. An elaborate dive into Irish tales was unimaginable.

Under other circumstances, Jay might have considered going to the library, or at least browse the internet to find out something. But it would have required him to leave the hospital and therefore his mother. With his father and brother inaccessible, he refused to leave her side for longer than the occasional bathroom break or trip to the cafeteria, the latter of which had ceased once the hospital staff had learned of his ailing body. From then on, he had been kindly supplied with coffee that was greedily gulped down, and food, which remained mostly untouched – much to the nurse’s dismay.

There was only one other alternative to acquire the desired information: Greg Gerwitz, or Mouse as he preferred. His brother in arms and communications expert of his unit, self-proclaimed tech-whiz, genius, and go-to man if anyone needed intel. Mouse was also the closest thing he had to a friend, probably was the only person in the world to have earned that label in his books, which was saying a lot. Jay didn’t trust easily, never had. He never liked asking for help either. Going through boot camp and then serving together, he had become his closest confidant in the last four years. Halstead still didn’t reveal much personal details to him, instead preferred to keep to himself. However, his time in the service had taught him that in order to survive out in a warzone he needed to trust and rely on the help of other’s.

Now, his thirst for information had been as good a time as ever to make use of his resources, and Mouse had dutifully provided him with the answer to his question, even if the phone call hadn’t ended on the best of terms and Jay wasn’t sure where he stood with Mouse at this point.

_“Jay!” The exclamation was a combination of disbelief and joy, the shrill bellow caught him off-guard, causing him to cringe involuntarily. Being stuck in a quiet hospital room with only the steady rhythmic beat of the monitors attached to his mother had made him sensitive to unexpected noise. At least that was what he told himself, refusing to believe that there might be another underlying issue; posttraumatic stress from his latest tour in Afghanistan for example. His mother was laid up in the hospital, she was his sole priority right now. Everything else, including his mental status would have to take a backseat._

_Mrs. Halstead stirred slightly in her sleep, her forehead wrinkling as if to object his thoughts, and Jay realized that he probably shouldn’t be having a phone conversation at his mother’s bedside. He didn’t want to leave her, but it was selfish to disturb and risk waking her just so he could keep an eye on her. She needed the rest. Jay stood from the uncomfortable plastic chair and stiffly walked over to the door, throwing a long glance back at her sleeping form before silently closing it. Only then did he greet his friend. “Hey Mouse.”_

_“How are you man? You left at lightning speed. One minute we were debriefed, the next you were called away. When I came looking for you, you were nowhere to be found. Where are you?” The words were spilling out of Greg’s mouth, making it hard to follow. Jay couldn’t help but chuckle. Incessant rambling was such a Mouse thing._

_Jay was instantly overcome by remorse for leaving his friend behind without an explanation. “Chicago,” he supplied as he slowly hobbled down the hallway of the oncology ward. He stopped at an alcove with a large glass front overlooking the parking lot of the Mercy Hospital and Medical Center. If one were lucky and the sky was clear, one could even make out Lake Michigan in the distance. With clouds looming over the city, the world simply ended behind the hospital grounds though._

_Mouse didn’t appear to have heard him, too absorbed in his interrogation. “What’s going on? I asked around, but no-one could or would tell me anything.” A hint of offence at being denied information regarding Jay’s whereabouts resonated in his voice. “They just said something about an emergency, so I went to the medical bay, but you weren’t there either.”_

_Dreading the direction, the monologue was taking, Jay tried to intercept, “Mouse,” but was unsuccessful. He held the phone away a couple inches away from his ear, when the other man started talking again and rolled his eyes even if his colloquist couldn’t see it._

_“I was worried that they sent you on another secret mission. Which would be the stupidest and most irresponsible move considering you just got back – barely standing, might I add – and are still supposed to be under medical supervision.” Greg trailed off to catch his breath. Jay could hear him gulp, his own throat constricting ever so slightly at the reminder, but shook his head ridding himself of the impending thoughts as he gripped the cell tighter in his right hand._

_He tuned back in just in time to realize that Greg prepared to launch into another round of rambling and took the opportunity to cut him off. “Greg, stop!” He used that deep no-nonsense tone, authoritative and commanding, that his fellow rangers both feared and respected as it didn’t leave anything up for debate. It worked: Mouse was immediately sent to his military mindset of following his Sergeant’s orders blindly and faithfully. Jay continued, albeit in a softer voice, allowing a wisp of emotion to seep through. “I’m not on a secret mission. I’m back home. I’m in Chicago.”_

_For a moment he was met with silence and Jay wondered if either of them had lost reception. A quick glance at his phone told him otherwise. The call was still connected. “In Chicago?” Mouse repeated suspiciously. Instead of letting him verify, the man started with his rapid-fire questioning again. “Why? And why didn’t you say anything? What’s the emergency? Did something happen?”_

_Jay was temporarily lost for words, only an unintelligible “uh” escaped his lips, thick with emotion as the reality of the whole mess suddenly hit him like a freight train. He tapped his booted toes against the low-hanging radiator beneath the large windows, ignoring the ever-present tingling sensation in the left leg while doing so._

_Greg quieted down immediately. “Oh no. Something did happen,” he concluded and blew out a breath that resonated loudly in Halstead’s ear. “Jay, what is it? Is it your mom?” Silence. “It is your mom, isn’t it? She’s the emergency?” Halstead swallowed the lump in his throat, for once glad that he had accidentally revealed his mother’s illness to his brother in arms one sleepless night in the bushes of Korengal Valley. He wouldn’t have been able to disclose all the details over the phone now. “Did she,” Mouse hesitated, voice full of dread, “did she die?” Jay failed to deliver a verbal negation, resulting in a whispered “fuck”._

_Alarmed that his silence had led Greg to the wrong assumption, Jay shook himself from his stupor at last and hastily cleared up the misunderstanding. “No!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked angrily against the threatening tears. The young man rested his forehead against the cool surface of the window, welcoming its soothing effect on his throbbing head. He belatedly realized that his friend expected a clarification. “Not yet anyway. It’s only a matter of time, I guess.” He suppressed a sob. “She’s terminal. There’s nothing else they can do for her.” He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat. “She wants to go home, but she’s in too much pain. A morphine pump might help.”_

_“Shit.” The single syllable was everything that escaped Mouse’s lips. There were things left out, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between them. Jay was thankful that his friend didn’t voice them because he didn’t know if could keep it together if things got too emotional over the phone. “If you need anything, if you need me to come down there…”_

_The generous offer of support from someone who wasn’t family when neither his dad nor brother could be bothered to visit, was overpowering. It was almost too much for Jay. “No,” he declined, voice raw and on the verge of cracking. As touching as it was, he didn’t want to be seen so vulnerable by someone under his command, especially not Mouse. The other ranger struggled with death just as much if not more so than him and after seeing half of their unit blown to smithereens in that IED attack two months ago, well, let’s just say, Mouse didn’t need to see anyone else die in front of him, even if he wasn’t close to that someone. “I’m fine, Mouse,” he reassured. “Look, I need you to research something for me. It might sound stupid given the circumstances, but…”_

_Sensing Jay’s need to change the topic, Gerwitz flipped the switch and didn’t hesitate to reply. “Whatever you need. Spill. What shall I google for you?” Mouse’s eagerness elicited a choked laugh from Jay. Forget about Greg being a tech-whiz, he was a nerd through and through, there was no denying it, but he was also a jokester. Trust him to ease the tension in a dire situation. Halstead was glad to have someone like him in his life._

_“Can you find out the meaning of the name Sadhbh?” Jay lifted his head from the window and scratched his neck absentmindedly. “The hospital staff keep asking me. They probably just want to make conversation. But I swear to you, if they ask me one more time without me being able to give them an answer, someone is seriously going to get hurt.” It was Mouse’s turn to snicker. “The name’s Gaelic, that much I know. Do you need me to spell it for you?”_

_Jay was just about to do that when Mouse replied. “Nah, I got it. Give me a sec.” Furious typing could be heard over the phone. Halstead could picture Greg before his inner eye: lip sucked in, the tip of his tongue sticking out of one corner, and his eyes narrowed at the computer screen unblinking in concentration. “Sadhbh is your mom’s name, I take it?” Mouse inquired while he scrolled through the search results. Jay confirmed. “Gotcha,” he called out triumphantly._

_“Hit me.” It took Mouse all but thirty seconds to skim over his findings before divulging them. Meanwhile, Jay switched the phone to his left hand and massaged his aching shoulder, then laid his head back against the window, cushioned by his sleeved right forearm as he stared out into the foggy city._

_“Alright, so the name is believed to derive from long forgotten Proto-Celtic words that describe someone with a good heart, someone sweet and gentle.” Jay swallowed the acidic fluid rising in his throat at the accurate description of his mother’s personality. “Sadhbh is also a supernatural creature from Irish mythology.” Mouse narrated the folklore, the fluency in which he disclosed the tale made it obvious that he was reading straight from the screen. He finished with a dramatic sigh. “This was one poor woman. Are Irish legends always this tragic?”_

_“No idea. Probably,” Jay replied absentmindedly, his sleep-deprived yet razor-sharp mind already internalizing the story and making connections against his better judgement. He was pulled from his thoughts by a heated conversation between two doctors passing behind him. Unable to stop himself, Jay flinched violently at the unexpected noise and hissed when the abrupt movement aggravated battle scars and bruised tissue._

_Mouse must have heard the treacherous groan that escaped him. “Jay?” When he didn’t get an answer right away, he tried again. “Hey, you okay?” he bellowed down the line, more urgency behind his words this time. It reminded Halstead of the hours following the accident in Afghanistan not too long ago, but he quickly shook his head and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind._

_“I’m fine,” he dismissed his friend without missing a beat, mentally slapping himself for the slip-up. He was out in an open hallway. People were bound to walk by occasionally; he shouldn’t be caught off-guard like this. One of the few things he prided himself in was always his ability to stay sharp and alert no matter how sleep-deprived he was, so why was he so jumpy right now? Taking deep calming breaths, he tried to nip Mouse’s worry in the bud with a lame excuse. “Foot fell asleep. Sat in one position for too long.”_

_Obviously, that wasn’t true or merely a half-truth. While he wasn’t sitting, his leg did feel numb and tingly but that was not all there was to it. Greg didn’t buy into it either. “You sure, man?” The query was laced with skepticism and not for the first time Jay was glad that his friend couldn’t see him over the phone._

_“Yeah, I’m good,” Jay assured him tight-lipped. His cell phone travelled back to his right ear as he rotated the left shoulder experimentally before pulling the adjacent arm close to his body. He started a slow pace down the linoleum floor, trying to work out the kinks and stiffness that had settled in his bones as well get feeling back into the left leg. There was an unfamiliar throb in his knee that hadn’t been there before, but he ignored it, hoping that moving around would help like it usually did._

_“Jay,” Mouse warned. “You’re not fine!” Irritation and stress seeped into his words at this point. “May I remind you that you were still in the hospital a little over a week ago?” Jay’s body tensed at the mention of his own prolonged stay in a medical center preceding the current one, only halfway across the world._

_“I’m in a hospital right now,” he wisecracked and giggled humorlessly as he remembered the immense joy and sense of calm he had felt when the warm summer breeze had hit his face for the first time upon his discharge from Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany. That had been just under two weeks ago but to him it felt like years had gone by since then, and instead of being able to enjoy his freedom he was once again confined to the four walls of a medical facility, only this time it wasn’t for his own sake but his mother’s._

_Mouse huffed a breath. “Very funny, Jay. But I’m serious,” he growled in annoyance. Halstead knew he shouldn’t joke about this. It was a sensitive topic for both, albeit for different reasons. He understood he had barely come out of the Afghan hellhole alive, and he knew that Greg had had to watch him almost die on his way to urgent, lifesaving medical care. Still, he didn’t want to get into this. Not now. Not over the phone. Preferably not ever._

_“So am I,” Jay rebutted, voice wound just as tight as his muscles. He bit hard on his bottom lip as pain flared up his left side from the abuse. Switching the mobile device for the umpteenth time he tightened his hold on it with a trembling left hand as the fingers of his right dug into the rigid crevice between his neck, shoulder and collarbone, then traced the area around them until they landed on the ragged outline of an angry scar hidden beneath his hoodie. He followed the undulating skin all the way to the bottom of the neck where it merged into another blemish, carefully concealed by the collar. These wounds held much more meaning to him that the ones to his left leg, because the mental pain overruled the physical kind. An inch to the right and he wouldn’t be standing here. He shivered as the memory lingered. He really didn’t want Mouse’s reminder of how close he came to dying that day._

_“Right,” the man in question harrumphed agitatedly. Whereas Jay needed this conversation to end, preferably five minutes ago, Mouse seemed to be spurred on by his friend’s evasion. “Tell me Jay, did you see a doctor since you made it to Chicago?” Halstead remained silent. “You do remember that they discharged you prematurely, and on the one condition that you would follow up as soon as you made it back stateside?” His voice hitched at the end, his frustration rising._

_Jay seethed with increasing annoyance. He shoved his index finger deeper into the delicate skin beneath his Adam’s apple, almost gagging as he pressed a little too hard. “I know what they said. I was there, remember?” he choked into the phone, rubbing the particularly tender spot at the junction where the collarbone met the sternum and winced. The induration of scarred tissue was exceptionally pronounced there, the structures beneath sensitive from the severe trauma to the area._

_Led to believe that the ranger’s deflection was indeed a sign of not following doctor’s orders, Mouse moaned in disbelief. “Jay! The check-up is important. There might be permanent damage if you don’t take this seriously,” he scorned. “It could cost you your career. Do you want that?” He exhaled loudly into the receiver. “Did you at least take the painkillers?”_

_“Gerwitz, I said I’m fine!” Jay gritted out. The use of Mouse’s last name effectively ended any further discussion of the topic. He rarely called him that, and the fact that he did now spoke volumes about his level of desperation to steer the conversation into another direction. Halstead was aware that the other soldier only pushed him because he deeply cared about his wellbeing. He was just looking out for him. But Jay couldn’t deal with the concern right now._

_He also simply didn’t have the energy to argue with his friend. He didn’t want to explain to him that yes, he had seen a doctor, or more accurately: his mother’s doctors had forced him to see an orthopedist the day he had gotten to Mercy. And while he had agreed to go to this one appointment, he had point-blank refused any further meeting for the sole reason that he needed to stay by his mother’s side. They had given up eventually. Reluctantly so, and not without making him promise that he would consider medical aftercare as soon as another family member got there and take the prescribed pain relievers._

_He didn’t want to explain all that to Mouse because then he would also have to tell him that his father seemed to have given up on his own wife already, and that his brother Will had yet to take any of his calls. He would have to admit to him that no, he had not taken any of the meds, not even after vowing to the doctors that he would, because the pills made him queasy and drowsy. Any of the small dialogues with his mother could potentially be the last and he wanted to remember every detail as clear as day. But what was the point in telling Mouse all that? It would only worry the other man more. He felt guilty enough that he had to abandon his friend in Fort Benning mere hours after returning to the States, leaving him without so much as a goodbye. It wasn’t fair to him. But it also wasn’t fair to him to burden him with all his family issues and emotional baggage._

_Squeezing his eyes and clenching his teeth, he willed the emotions to the back of his mind. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and steeled his voice. “Look Mouse, I have to go. Thanks for the research. I owe you. Talk soon, okay?”_

Jay hadn’t waited for a reply. He had hurriedly hung up and stuffed the phone in the pockets of his sweatpants before limping to the hospital room. A part of him felt bad for shutting Mouse out like that after everything that the other had done for him. The man had offered his support without second thought, something that couldn’t be said for his own family. Now, as he was sitting by his mother’s side, he began to regret not taking Greg up on his willingness to fly out. Mouse would have provided a distraction. He would have been someone to talk to when his thoughts spiraled to dark depths. Someone to calm him down when the fear and panic of losing his mother would squeeze his heart to a point where he wondered if he was suffering a heart attack.

Those episodes would come, he was certain of it, and going through them alone was something he was terrified of. Jay might even reconsider, call Mouse and beg him to come to Chicago, but right now his pride and stubbornness won out. He hoped his friend would understand his need to remain somewhat levelheaded. This was his mom and she needed him, needed his undivided attention. She didn’t deserve to be alone when she was most likely on her deathbed. If being with her required him to neglect his own health so be it. He was willing to make that sacrifice.

Sacrifice. He couldn’t help but think about the legend of Sadhbh and the tragedy she had endured. His mother, in a way, had been struck by similar misfortune to that of her namesake. The parallels were daunting and chilled Jay to the bones. While Sadhbh Halstead had not been enchanted to a deer, she seemed to be just as cursed.

The youngest Halstead hadn’t been alive when his mother had been diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia for the first time. At age twenty-three when most people celebrated the freedom from their parents and started making plans for their future, she had fought against an aggressive disease and weakened immune system. His mother had never talked about it, but according to Jay’s maternal grandparents the outlook had been grave for a while. But against her doctor’s given prognosis, she had beaten the odds. Jay hadn’t been surprised to learn of her determination to fight. She had always been strong, the strongest person he knew.

She had lived life to the fullest after that, met the love of her life, married and given birth to two healthy boys. Patrick Halstead was her Fionn mac Cumhaill, Will and Jay her Oisín. The pure joy of having a future that for a while was inaccessible, had lifted the dark looming clouds, her illness had soon become a distant memory and eventually almost forgotten about.

Almost being the key word. Because years later, with her oldest son ready to leave for college, a routine check-up revealed that her worst enemy, her own personal Fer Doirich, had casted a spell on her all over again. The cancer was back and this time there was no way to escape its clutches. And yet, she fought. She stayed strong when the first round of chemotherapy didn’t bring the desired results. She stayed strong when the family’s already tight financial situation got even direr due to ever-growing medical expenses. She stayed strong when she saw her youngest son enlisted two years later and served his country. She stayed strong for the same son when he came home from his first tour a changed man, hardened by the things he had seen yet still the same kind-hearted and pure soul that she remembered. She stayed strong when her husband buried himself in work to cover the bills and when her oldest did the same 790 miles away in New York because he was afraid to watch her suffer.

She stayed strong for them all, for Patrick, Will and Jay, and she would stay strong for them all the way to her last breath, whenever that would be. Doomed by something as simple as her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so we know a bit about Mama Halstead now. In the next chapter we will officially meet her.
> 
> I don't know when I will be posting the next installment yet. The complete first act is already pre-written and I'm currently in the midst of writing the second act but it's slow-going. My life is incredibly busy right now. No rest for the nurses in times of Covid-19. So please bear with me if it takes longer to update.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for riding along with me on this journey. Stay healthy and vigilant!


	3. Sometimes I Wish Our Throats Didn't Feel So Much Like Barricades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so unjust that while Jay had way too much time on his hands these days, his mother lived on a borrowed, limited amount of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still set in 2008, this chapter picks up roughly a week after where we left off in the last chapter. Jay gets a surprise visit and there will be some interaction between Jay and his mother. Keep tissues nearby (this should be an archive warning if you ask me), you might need them.
> 
> Title is taken from 'Our Space is Overgrown' by Aayushi.

Clocks and calendars gave the impression that time was linear.

A clock, whether analog or digital, whether designed to be worn as a watch or to hang on a wall, was calibrated to tick in the same steady rhythm called seconds. Sixty of those finickily tuned seconds going by turned into a minute, sixty minutes into an hour, and twenty-four hours made up a day. Days morphed into a week, weeks transformed into months and before you know it twelve of those filled up a calendar with an entire year. People loved tracking time; the recurring intervals gave them order. They used them to plan and prepare and by doing so they created for themselves this false pretense of security and control over their destiny.

For the most part, the whole concept served the purpose well. However, as Albert Einstein proved in his theory of relativity, time was in fact not linear. As one of the brightest minds of his time had put it: ‘Time is relative; its only worth depends upon what we do as it is passing.’ With or without full awareness of the phenomenon described by the tongue-sticking, frizzy-haired scientist, everyone had come across it at some point in their lives.

Everyone who had ever been in a state of blissful joy and happiness, be it a marvelous date with their significant other or an adventurous, unwinding vacation, knew this. Weeks and days seemingly shrunk to mere hours; the definition of a good time was suddenly so much shorter than what a clock deluded. Everyone who had ever felt mind-numbing ennui while waiting in line at the grocery store or on a different note had eagerly anticipated the presents under a brightly decorated tree on Christmas morning as a child knew this too. Time would drag like boiled tar or chewed gum when you were excited for something. Seconds would feel like hours, days like weeks.

Then there were those moments in which time ostensibly vanished altogether.

Anyone who had ever found themselves in a life-threatening predicament could attest to that. A car accident was a good example, facing the barrel of a gun another. Pretty much any situation where your life proverbially flashed before the very eyes. Sense of time also left anyone who anxiously awaited or was unexpectedly handed terrible news about a loved one, usually when it involved abrupt or impending death. Those delicately attuned conceptions of time ceased to exist in an instant. Time wouldn’t fly, and time wouldn’t lag. Time would simply stop; the idea of time units no longer in alignment but instead presented themselves as one giant blurry mess. Entangled much in the same way headphone cables always ended up, no matter how meticulous you coiled them.

Time in all its glory was a strange, abstract concept, the perception of it something highly individual, its reality different for everyone. Hinging purely on personal experience and circumstance. Time was an illusion. Einstein had just been the first to establish it.

Jay, while he had struggled to comprehend the complicated theory standing behind it back when he was in high school, came to the same realization as dear Albert on multiple occasions in his life, but only now did he understand what the physicist had described. It was a combination of factors playing into his awareness: the lurking grim reaper in the shadows in the corner of the hospital room was one, the tedium of sitting in the same hospital chair beside the same hospital bed with the same hospital patient occupying it another. Everything was the same as the day before and the day before that. The color of the walls and furniture remained a depressing shade of light grey, the folding bed at the far end, courtesy of the nurses, was just as abusive on his back, and the beating of his mother’s heart as well as her shallow inhales and exhales were the same frequenting waves. There was no change.

The only diversion from the dullness was the rotating hospital staff, mostly nurses at this point. The doctors only came once a day for routine checks, usually in the late morning hours. Additional rounds had gotten rarer once morphine had been introduced for pain management. Those visits were reserved for when new symptoms presented, or adjustment of medication was required. Jay’s mom appeared much more lucid, an oxymoron considering that strong opioids usually made people sleepier and robbed them of the awareness of their surroundings. But for some reason it allowed Mrs. Halstead to hold longer conversations during her waking hours. Those periods were still far and in between, though. For the most part, the room was cast in the same eerie silence that Jay had become accustomed to.

His mind however, lacked intellectual stimulus. Hence the pondering over the one resource of which he had entirely too much on his hands right now: time. There was nothing else to engage the empty space in his head, the repetitiveness of the days feeling like Groundhog Day. Jay felt stuck, unable to escape the endless loop and it made him feel utterly useless, because there was no right sequence of events, no right course of action to be taken. He didn’t know how, nor did he possess the incentive to stop the wheel from spinning and getting the wagon rolling again. He didn’t have the ability to magically cure his mother’s terminal cancer. He wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t a scientist, and he wasn’t a pharmacologist either. Even if he were one of the above, finding the panacea was a quixotic task as it required time he didn’t have.

As the sayings go: Time was of the essence. Time was running out. It was only a matter of time. Jay could fill a book with the countless phrases running through his head. Linear or relative, it didn’t matter in the end. Time was everywhere, it was ever-present, all-consuming. And it was so unjust that while he had way too much time on his hands these days, his mother lived on a borrowed, limited amount of it. His mother was dying, plain and simple, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jay sighed and glanced at his watch through bleary eyes. Five thirty in the morning. Seconds ticked by in slow motion, giving him the deceptive artifice that he had all the time left in the world to be with his mom. In due time, he would be crudely reminded that no number of days or weeks would ever be enough. Too soon, it would all be over for her and he would be left to wonder at which point and time his mother had slipped away from him. He dreaded the moment in which her absence would become his new reality. It was one of the reasons – the only one he’d admit to if anyone asked – why he was awake at this ungodly hour, denying himself the luxury of a deep slumber. A little over four hours of uninterrupted sleep would have to suffice. It was just enough to function, more than he had gotten some of the previous nights. And although exhaustion pulled at every one of his fibers, he already felt guilty about wasting any time at all in this unproductive manner.

A syrupy feeling resided in his bones as he rolled his shoulder experimentally and rotated his head, stretching aching limbs and working out the kinks in his neck, downside of sleeping upright in a chair instead of using the cot. He stiffly rose from the plastic stool and went in search of his sanitary bag. He would freshen up in the bathroom down the hall, maybe help himself to one of those horrible sludges from the vending machine that they called coffee. It tasted stale and moldy as if the beans had been stored in there for decades and gotten wet at some point, but it would have to do for now. The nurses would bring the real stuff in two hours, but he couldn’t wait this long for his first caffeine kick.

Jay surveyed the room and jumped as his eyes fell on a figure standing in the door. “Seven minutes and twenty-three seconds,” was the odd greeting he received. “I’m impressed. You must be even more tired than I thought if it took you this long to notice me being here. It usually takes you what? Two seconds?” The statement was spoken with nonchalance. As if it was the most ordinary way to announce their arrival and as if their presence had been expected all along. This was a surprise reunion, though an innocent bystander would be none the wiser.

“Mouse,” Jay half-whispered, lost for words. The ranger stood in the middle of the room, dumbfounded and rooted to the spot as he took in his comrade. Leaning against the doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles and arms in front of his chest, a tan army duffel bag slung over his right shoulder, the visitor portrayed a picture of casualness. The toothy grin on his face reached all the way across the youthful face. Jay, in this instance, forgot all about his many ailments and felt the sudden urge to shorten the distance between them. He was reminded of the injuries when his left leg protested the unheralded strain and his knee collapsed under his weight.

It was only thanks to Mouse’s lickety-split reflexes that Jay didn’t crash onto the unforgiving linoleum floor in a tangle of limbs. The luggage dropped like a sack of potatoes, forgotten about in the middle of the doorway as Greg leapt forward and grabbed his friend under the armpits to thwart the tumble. Simultaneously Jay’s arms shot out to cushion the expected fall, wrapping around the other soldier’s middle. The unwieldy embrace would have been a weird sight to anyone passing or walking into the room. Thankfully, there were no witnesses around.

“Whoa. Easy there, Sarge. I know you love me. You don’t have to throw yourself at me to prove it,” Gerwitz joked, head leaning back slightly to prevent them from headbutting. Upon doing so, he got his first real glance at Halstead’s features. It wiped the amusement off his face immediately. “Jesus, Sarge. You look even worse than I remember.”

Jay grimaced. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special, do you?” he quipped without spite, falling into the light banter regardless of the still looming argument over the phone from a few days – or was it a week already? – ago. “And here everyone is wondering why you’re still single.” A ghost of a wicked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Mouse barked a laugh. “Shut up. You don’t have a woman waiting for you either,” he teased back, reminding Jay of the fact that he wasn’t the only good-looking youngster to be mocked about being single from their fellow rangers. It had led to some interesting rumors and speculations at camp, some of which they might have had a hand in creating for they were basically glued at the hip most of their first tour. Everyone in their unit knew that they were just close friends though. They had bonded early on over the shared hometown of Chicago and their lone wolf personas, finding even more common ground when family came up in conversation a month into their training. Mouse had revealed a lot about his dysfunctional one whereas Jay at first hadn’t been forthcoming at all. After his initial silence he had eventually hinting at a difficult relationship with his father, the circumstances leading up to that to be divulged much later in a moment of vulnerability.

Greg’s eyes fell on the sleeping form on the bed. As they did, his meant to be funny comeback suddenly had a negative connotation. While it was true that Jay didn’t have a girlfriend waiting for him, he had come home to the one woman of the utmost importance. He had gathered from what Jay had uncovered that it was a small miracle his mother was still fighting. Mouse was grasping here, but he assumed that the sliver of hope that her youngest would return from Afghanistan in one piece might possibly have been what had kept Mrs. Halstead alive for so long.

So, in hindsight, saying that Jay didn’t have a woman waiting was like telling him his mother was already dead. The implication left a sour taste in his mouth. “Sorry. That was insensitive, I didn’t mean…” he backpedaled, stumbling over his words as he fished for the appropriate apology. The other ranger came to his rescue by shaking his head.

“I know what you meant, Mouse. It’s all good,” he reassured him with a lopsided smile. Subsequently noticing that he still clung to Gerwitz as if his life depended on it gave him the welcome distraction before his own thoughts had a chance to wander off. He unclamped his fingers from the tight hold on Mouse’s plaid shirt and took a small step back, carefully testing his left knee in the process. It felt weak and jelly-like. Of all the injuries he had received, his knee surprisingly had been one of the lesser evils. While not unscathed, it hadn’t given him too much trouble. Up until now that was. It was slightly unsettling that the joint gave out on him so unexpectedly.

Then again, he’d been sleeping in a suboptimal position, so he hoped that some stretching and a working the muscles would alleviate the rigidness. Another step nearly had him crumbling again if it weren’t for Mouse who remained a faithful crutch by his side. “Let me help you, Sarge,” he requested, not really leaving it up for debate. “Chair or cot?” he asked, eyes shifting between the two pieces of furniture.

Remembering how merciless the plastic stool had been, the choice was an easy one. “Cot,” Jay decided. “And drop the Sarge.” The latter was grumbled disapprovingly, ripping an accidental snort from Mouse. It was no secret to him that Jay hated being referred to by his military rank when they weren’t on active duty. While making Sergeant at twenty-one was rather impressive, Jay was incredibly humble about the fact. His unrelenting yet fair treatment of the other officers had earned him a lot of respect among those under his command. But despite his rank, he always made it clear that he saw them all as equals.

Jay focused back on walking. With Greg’s help he crossed the small distance between him and the folding bed. The trek felt agonizingly slow to Jay and left him depleted as his bottom hit the thin mattress. He rested for a minute before testing mobility of his knee again, alternating between bending, stretching and rotating. It wasn’t as painful as when he was standing, and he could easily ignore the popping sound as ligaments chafed the bone structures.

Mouse was clearly more disturbed by it. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Sarge,” he started, only to be interrupted by an exasperated glare and a playful punch to the arm from Jay. “Sorry.” Grinning smugly, Gerwitz neither looked nor sounded the part. Halstead pulled a face at him but otherwise let it slide, so he took the cue to continue. “As I was saying,” his tone turned serious again. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you really need to take better care of yourself. This,” Greg waved his hand in a circular motion at Jay, “is not okay.”

The sitting man lowered his eyes to read the time off his watch before raising them to look at the hospital bed. “Can we not do this right now?” he asked quietly. Jay started to pick at the skin on his nail beds, an ugly nervous habit he had adopted early in his childhood. Upon catching himself in the act, he tugged his hands under his thighs.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not going to blow me off again.” Mouse accentuated his words with a miniscule shake of his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest and digging the heels of his military boots into the ground. While usually more laid-back and yielding than Halstead, he could be extremely persistent if he wanted to.

“Mouse,” Jay started, glancing up at the standing man through his lashes. He would take his brother-in-arm’s harangue in stride, but he didn’t want his mother to bear witness to the imminent dressing-down. If his calculations were right and the occasional twitch in the hospital bed behind Greg were anything to go by, his mom would wake soon. She always did around six in the morning. He wanted to explain that, but Gerwitz wouldn’t let him.

Mistaking the interjection for an evasion of the topic, he hauled off. “Don’t ‘Mouse’ me, Jay. I know that you don’t give half a shit about your health.” Mouse’s forehead crinkled and he immediately corrected himself as he realized, “hell, you don’t give any shit about your health. At first, I thought it was you feeling responsible for our unit as a Sergeant, maybe even your way of trying to punish yourself out of survivors guilt over losing half our unit over there.” Jay’s face scrunched up at the harrowing reminder, jaw clenched tightly, and eyes fixated on his mother’s still closed ones. “I get that, Jay. I carry the same guilt, Goddammit.”

The last sentence was spoken louder than the rest, self-deprecating and punitive. Mrs. Halstead stirred at the commotion, eyes fluttering this time and Jay panicked. His eyes darted to Mouse fleetingly, begging him to stop talking already. “Mouse,” he tried again, weak yet urgent and voice tight with emotion. His plea fell on deaf ears once more, so he resumed staring unblinkingly at the bed in silence.

“But that’s not all there is to it, is it?” Greg asked, more to himself than Jay. “You always put others first. I don’t know if your shitty relationship with your father has anything to do with it, but it’s part of who you are. It’s admirable Jay, really. But if you don’t take care of yourself, if you continue to run yourself into the ground by not sleeping, not taking your meds and blatantly ignoring your injuries, you’re not doing anyone any favors. Least of all your mom.” Mouse took a deep breath as he concluded his rant.

Thirty seconds passed by without a reaction from Jay and Mouse’s irritation grew. He was ready to articulate his frustration when he became conscious of one of two things: he had completely lost his friend at some point during his lecture; the young Halstead trapped in his own head – or so Greg thought. His face was glazed over with a pained expression, eyes misty and filled with despair. Upon closer inspection his initial observation proved to be wrong. The blue-green irises were flickering, lids twitching ever so slightly; Jay was communication with his eyes, but they were directed at something off to Mouse’s right.

It was in that moment when it hit him: Mrs. Halstead was awake, and he might have just advertised bitter truths in an unblemished way that the woman would have been better off not knowing. His heart instantly leapt to his throat. Mouse performed a one-eighty in slow motion, so gradual that it was a wonder he didn’t lose his balance. It was almost comical, but there was no one there to be amused about it. Greg followed the direction of Jay’s gaze and as suspected landed on now open hazel orbs belonging to the occupant of the hospital bed. His eyes shifted between Jay and his mother, watching their silent conversation in awe. Mother and son were incredibly attuned. Gerwitz was mesmerized by the vivid display of emotions on both their features. It was almost like reading a gripping book, in this case a heart-wrenching drama.

He was pulled from his thoughts when umber eyes broke the bond between the two and landed on his. Unshed tears glistened in them, and Greg gulped, realizing that he had put the sadness there. The temporary paralysis left him as he remembered his good manners. He dropped his arms at his side and cleared his throat. “Hi. Gerwitz, Greg. Army Specialist, third Battalion, seventy-fifth Rangers Regiment. I’m serving with Jay,” he rattled off. He moved closer to the bed and extended his hand towards the middle-aged woman. “You must be Mrs. Halstead. It’s an honor to meet you.”

A pale hand, scarred and bruised from too many old as well as recent intravenous lines, lifted from the blanket. Mouse gently took it in his own, afraid to break the paper-thin skin or frail bones, but her handshake was surprisingly firm despite her weakened state. “It’s Sadhbh,” the woman insisted, voice breathy. “Nice to meet you, Greg. Jay told me so much about you.” There was an all-encompassing warmth and kindness in the way she spoke. Mouse was under her spell immediately.

“Oh, he did?” Gerwitz dragged the words out as his eyes flitted towards his friend, who still sat motionless in the same position, a remorseful and far-away look on his face. Feeling bad for putting Jay in this mindset, he hoped to pull him out of his trance if he included him into the conversation. “I hope he didn’t tell any of the embarrassing stories from Ranger School.”

She chuckled in a way so similar to Jay. “No,” she assured, “but I assume you would have enough gossip about my boy if that was the case.” Greg snickered at that and confirmed with a nod. Sadhbh motioned for him to lean closer to her and he complied, stooping slightly. Once his head was close to her ear, she pretended to share a secret with him, talking in a loud whisper meant to be heard by her youngest. “A mother wants to know all about those.”

The ranger was unable to hold the guffaw in this time. The woman’s sense of humor was right up his alley, her intention of drawing her son out of his own head not lost on him. Sadly, it didn’t seem to be working. All it achieved was an elongated sigh from the man on the cot and a hunch of his shoulders. Jay’s head was bowed, and he looked markedly contrite. Mouse met Sadhbh’s gaze mirroring his own worry. Eager to ease some of hers, he offered a small smile which she gratefully returned. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Halstead.” Her glare stopped him in his tracks, “Sadhbh,” he corrected himself. “I didn’t mean to blab earlier. If I had known you were awake, I wouldn’t have said what I did.”

She waved him off. “Nonsense. You meant well.” There was no reproach in her soft voice, just pure benevolence and gratitude. “I’m glad that Jay has you as a friend. He doesn’t have a lot of those, you know?” Mrs. Halstead stopped to take a couple deep breaths, talking for longer periods of time obviously a strenuous task for her. Mouse clasped her spindly hand in between his in silent support. “It’s nice to know that someone is looking out for him. Especially now, with me dying…” She said it in such a blasé manner, so at peace with the fact that it made Greg shudder, her acceptance truly chilling.

A raw, heartbreaking “Mom” from the other side of the room reached their ears simultaneously. A hiccoughing sob so convulsing and downright gut-wrenching, combined with Jay’s distraught mien tore at both Sadhbh’s and Mouse’s hearts. It dawned on the latter that, albeit seemingly zoned out, his friend had listened to them the whole time and Mrs. Halstead’s brusque remark served as a painful reminder of a future that her son wasn’t ever going to be ready to confront.

Mouse felt torn, debating whether to keep his reassuring handhold on Sadhbh or cross the room to comfort his tormented friend. But before he even had a chance to decide, Jay had pushed himself up from the mattress and wobbled over to the bedside. Greg took the cue and let loose of the hand, stepping back and thereby granting the son access to his mother’s appendage. Afraid his friend would fall over, he tugged the hospital chair closer with his foot and pushed it in Jay’s direction, nudging him to sit down with a tap on his shoulder. The young man absentmindedly followed suit, base touching the very edge of the stool as he leaned forward as far as the bed railing permitted. He pulled their entwined hands towards him, resting them against his forehead as he closed his eyes for a brief second. Desperately melting into the small physical link, absorbing the knowledge that she was still here, still alive. 

“Oh sweetheart. It’s okay,” Sadhbh soothed, providing security and strength for her youngest. Her free hand reached over and combed through his cropped brown hair in a circling motion. It was enough for him to come undone. His shoulders started trembling first and soon his whole body was shaking with uncontrollable cries, leaving the other two people in the room to wonder whether Jay had allowed himself to let loose at all since he had gotten news on how grave things actually were. A frightening thought merely enervated by his current meltdown. “Sh, it’s going to be okay,” she repeated, followed by nonsensical whispers into his ear.

Greg watched silently as mother and son comforted each other. For a fleeting second, he wondered if he should leave the room to give them privacy. He already slunk back to the door, but Jay’s mom caught the movement and shook her head ever so slightly, mouthing a ‘stay’ to him. So, he detoured to the cot and sat down, propped his elbows onto his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. He took the reprieve to fully take in the hospital room, noting the machines and wires surrounding the bed, the bleak coloring of the walls and interior, everything held in various shades of grey. Too much like the still fresh memories of watching over his comrade in another hospital on another continent. He felt the springs of the cot poking through and wondered how Jay managed to sleep on there. They had slept on worse overseas, but his Sergeant wasn’t wounded then. Then again, maybe Jay didn’t sleep in the bed after all, at least he hadn’t when he had walked in earlier.

Jay’s sniffle and shuffling on the chair, followed by a hiss as the movement jarred neglected injuries pulled Mouse from his thoughts. He watched as Mrs. Halstead squeezed her son’s hand, then spoke in the kind yet firm breathy voice Greg had instantly taken a liking to. “How bad are your injuries?” Her voice was absent of any blame that he had kept something so important to himself, merely holding the gnawing concern and unconditional love of a mother. Mouse focused on his brother in arms, ready to say something on his behalf, but Jay beat him to it.

“Bad enough,” he choked out, too emotionally exhausted to console her with a fib. His honesty surprised everyone in the room, including Jay himself. Admitting to his pain was a huge deal and a clear sign of how terrible he really felt. “Ma, I…” he opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to worry you. You have enough to deal with on your own…” He trailed off and bit down on his lower lip. Hoping to stave off another fit of weeping he averted his eyes and blinked the tears away.

“Jay, honey,” Sadhbh coaxed, hand brushing against his cheek. “Look at me, please.” His long lashes fluttered rapidly as he faced her again, anguish chiseled into his features. “Honey, I appreciate that you are trying to be strong for me, I really do. I know you want to protect me. But that’s not your job, much rather it is mine to protect you.” She grunted as she shifted in the bed. Her eyes crinkled and lines of exhaustion appeared on her face. Jay scooted even closer to the edge of the chair and leaned forward, right hand touching her shoulder as his eyes flitted across the monitor to look for any signs of discomfort. “I’m fine, honey. You on the other hand are not.”

The younger man shook his head vehemently, face scrunching up in dismay. “Mom.” Words of protest were already on the tip of his tongue, but she shushed him, covering his right hand firmly with her own. He visibly deflated at her admonishing look, never able to withstand her compassionate yet resolute motherly ways.

“Greg is right, you know?” Jay furrowed his brows in confusion. “You’ve always cut back on your own needs in favor of other’s. It’s not healthy.” The ranger squirmed in his seat, clearly uneasy with the direction of the conversation. “Please follow his advice and take care of yourself. Let the doctor’s check you out.” Jay tightened his grip on her hand, signaling that he didn’t want to leave her side. “If you don’t want to do it for your own sake, at least do it for me. Please. I’m worried about you.” The wrinkles on his forehead increased. Sadhbh’s heart ached upon noticing the self-deprecating sneer forming. She had never liked that look on her son who sometimes seemed to think so little of himself, felt himself to be so unworthy of anyone’s love. “I’m your mother, I’ll always be worried about you and if you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll only worry more.”

Sadhbh added the last part for good measure. Not wanting to guilt-trip her son but knowing him the way she did, she knew it would be the clincher. It was confirmed when Jay straightened up and eventually nodded along with a sigh. “Okay,” he relented, voice rough and hoarse, lingering effects from crying and choking on suppressed emotion. He wiped his sleeved forearm under his nose, getting rid of the snot. “Okay mom. I’ll do it.”

Mrs. Halstead smiled contentedly and glanced over at Mouse, detecting the same relief on his face. With combined effort and an ace or two up their sleeves they had made the stubborn youngest Halstead man see at least some reason. “Thank you, Jay.” He attempted but failed at a smile. “Come here,” she requested at that, arms inviting him into an embrace. He complied and hugged her back in the tenderest of ways, his mindfulness a testament to his caring and considerate nature which he had undoubtedly inherited from his mother. They parted reluctantly yet both feeling much lighter. “But before you see a doctor go take a shower, will you? You reek.” She playfully scrunched her nose to prove her point.

Jay sniffed his shirt self-consciously and had to agree with her assessment. Mouse’s cackle had him turn around, only to be greeted with an outstretched arm holding his hygiene bag. His face was hidden behind the collar of his jacket as he tried to stifle another snort of laughter. Jay rolled his eyes in annoyance but had to admit to himself that he was amused by the histrionic display. Grabbing the proffered article with a huff, he tugged it under his arm as he got up painfully slow. Sadhbh noticed his hesitation. “Go already. I’ll be right here when you get back, sweetheart. Greg will keep me company.”

It was enough encouragement to get Jay going. He would make himself more presentable and he would accept the medical attention that he had refused in the past two weeks. He could do this; he could spare a few minutes of his time, right? His mother was faring better than she had during his entire stay. She wasn’t going anywhere right now. More importantly, she wouldn’t be alone while he was gone and that alone made him feel slightly less guilty about leaving the room. Jay limped to the door, turning around only to bestow his mom with a genuine smile that reached his eyes for once, then departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone leaving kudos and comments. It means a lot and I appreciate them greatly. I don't want to bore you with my personal life, I'm just going to say this much: writing this story is literally my only escape from an incredibly busy life right now and it's nice to know that you people seem to enjoy it so far.
> 
> In the next chapter we will switch back to present time. Stay tuned.


	4. I'm Groping in The Dark, My Arms Stretched Out Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one understood his anguish better than his own blood, someone who suffered the same loss as him. But it wasn’t that simple for the Halsteads, hadn’t been for the longest time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in present time, this picks up right after the prologue. A lot of introspection going on in this one and a bit of a talk between the Halstead brothers.
> 
> Enjoy the new installment.
> 
> Caption is from Andrew Bird's 'Saint Preservus', one of my all-time favorites.

There’s something bizarre in the way a ceremony could turn from glumness to a wanton mood.

After the opening tune of _Dear Old Skibbereen_ in a most beautiful polyphonic arrangement, multiple Caoineadh songs followed. The musicians’ powerful yet mellow singing voices carried the sorrowful tunes in the deferential and honorable way you would expect on such an occasion. But it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The slow bow strokes on the fiddle accompanying the lyrics of the songs eventually crescendoed and accelerated. The bodhrán took over, giving the beat for faster-paced songs, tin whistle and concertina soon adding to the orchestration. As ornamented polkas and jigs replaced the stately tempo and more beer and whiskey were consumed, people gathered on the floor and started dancing; alone, in pairs, occasionally in sets of four or eight, depending on repertoire and the preferred dance form. Those not dancing at least swayed along while sharing stories, telling jokes and laughing with the other guests.

Jay Halstead not so much.

Twenty-four years ago, on his maternal grandfather’s funeral, he would have mingled with the crowd. He would have shown off the newest sean-nôs steps his mother had taught him just to wipe away the sadness from her face and replace it with a proud and genuine smile. He had always been compassionated like that. Even as a child, he had had the tendency to bury his own sorrow in order to lift other people’s spirits. Jay didn’t know if he still possessed the skill to heel-toe-heel his feet like he had all those years ago, but even if he did, he didn’t have the mind nor energy to do it now. There wasn’t anyone to cheer up anyway, except for himself maybe; the guests seemed giddy enough.

Not even Will: one glimpse at the older Halstead revealed him to be sitting at the bar throwing his head back and laughing cordially at something Natalie whispered into his ear. His brother, as heart-stricken as he was by Pat’s death, in this moment looked calm, peaceful, happy even, and it could all be credited to the woman Will was head over heels in love with. For all their tiptoeing around each other for years and some force majeure or other constantly hindering them from pursuing the other, there was no denying that the female doctor was good for Will. She had brought an equanimity and maturity to his once volatile and irresponsible nature that Jay used to loath so much. The detective had to admit, he was relieved to see him so carefree now. Leastwise one of the brothers was lucky in their love life, even if neither of their parents were around to see it.

A longing ache ripped through him. It sent a chill down his spine and goosebumps crawled up his arms. He shivered. Oh, how much he missed them both. The anguish of losing his mother had never really ceased, but the fresh loss of his father unearthed the old grief and amplified it tenfold. Jay tried to inhale, but his breath hitched as he squelched the sob threatening to escape. In bittersweet irony, the band chose this instant to break from the chipper dance tunes and play the sorrowful harmonies of _Raglan Road_. As if he needed a reminder that this was an event of mourning.

With a trembling hand he lifted his glass and gulped his emotions down with whiskey, the strong earthy taste burning its way down his throat. If only he had someone by his side, someone to distract him and take some of the pain away.

Not that long ago there would have been no doubt that Erin would have been here with him. But that train since had left the station, so he quickly pushed the memory to the back of his mind. He thought about Mouse. His best friend had pulled him through his mother’s final days, the funeral, and even the falling out with his father and brother afterwards. Someone serving as family when his own was at strife. Someone offering the solace he so desperately needed but was denied from his blood relatives. This time around, his brother in arms, the only brother he had been able to count on ten years ago, was unavailable, unaware even of the most recent developments in Jay’s life. Halfway across the world in the middle of a battlefield, Mouse couldn’t support him in the same way. He had bigger, much more pressing matters to deal with. With Erin and Mouse, two people were gone whom he would have relied on in a heartbeat a couple of years ago. And without them here not many people were left whom he trusted.

Will, sure. His brother was within grasp this time, but he was also grieving. Jay didn’t want to add to his load. Voight probably. The man was an enigma, but despite the countless times butting his head with his superior, he was someone he trusted with his life whilst on the job. But he’d never burden his boss with his personal anguish, not when the Sergeant had experienced too much loss himself over the years. Aside from that it just seemed highly inappropriate. Hailey maybe. They shared a deep mutual understanding on the job. Though even with that, a year never seemed enough to trust someone implicitly with his innermost demons. Then again, she had seen some of his worst already. Not just that: she had been the one urging him to seek professional help to get the upper hand of his PTSD, and not once in those awful weeks and months had she judged him for the ill-advised decisions and out-of-control behavior. Jay had to admit, Hailey was not just a great work partner, she was the definition of a sound friend.

He thought about her offer, the many voicemails and text messages she had left in the days post shootout. He had ignored them all, the look of horror and incredulity on her face when she had first found him lying in the ditch of Lower Wacker, bleeding and gasping for air, still etched in his mind. So was the heavy silence when he had wanted to apologize to her in the ambulance. It was the adrenaline rush, the shock of nearly losing her partner, Jay was certain of that. And yet, the fact that she had not accompanied or at least waited at the hospital for him, had led herself be guided away by Adam instead, had been a stab to his already bruised heart.

It was one of the reasons why he didn’t want to face Hailey: he had disappointed her with his rashness. Particularly unforgiving was his verbal attack on her prior to the pursuit. He had purposely hurt her, therefore deserved her anger and would unquestioningly accept a reaming-out in a similar fashion to Voight’s. He did not however feel worthy of her comfort. Which was why he had left her – and the rest of the district for that matter – in the dark about the date and venue of the funeral reception. Will had asked him about it earlier, knowing fully well that the unit was something akin to a surrogate family to him, but he had just shrugged him off, thrown a lame excuse at him that they had caught a case. It might have been true, or it might not have been. He would be none the wiser.

Jay glanced towards Will again, yearning for another hug like the one he had received from his older brother hours ago. Who wouldn’t embrace the physical comfort of a relative in a situation like this? No one understood his anguish better than his own blood, someone who suffered the same loss as him. But it wasn’t that simple for the Halsteads, hadn’t been for the longest time. They had been inseparable as kids and they might have gotten closer again in recent years, but everything in between was a jumbled mess of broken trust, bilateral neglect, and harbored resentment, leaving an invisible scar that would never fully heal.

Apart from all that, Jay felt just as undeserving of his brother’s consolation as Hailey’s, especially after leaving Will with his grief in the first couple of days after their father’s passing. Instead of helping with arrangements, he had left his brother to singlehandedly deal with those in favor of work. He had gone on his own little revenge spree, carelessly put himself in danger and almost robbed the older man of his only remaining family in the process. In the aftermath of it all, he had dismissed Will’s concern, evaded the mothering when all the redhead tried to do was reassure himself that his brother was in fact alive and for the most part well. Because despite their unresolved issues one thing was undeniably true: Will needed him, and Jay needed Will just as much.

Jay lifted the tumbler again only to find it empty bar a single droplet. He debated fetching himself another shot, maybe even bring a whole bottle of Bushmills with him this time around to save himself another trip. Mind made up, he prepared to rise from the bench but a sharp pain in his side brought him back down. The aftereffects of chasing down Patrick Halstead’s killer had been a constant reminder of his stupidity all day, but at this point the dull ache had morphed into a pulsating throb and a herd of elephants seemed to have gotten rather comfy on his chest. Two beers and three whiskeys in Jay had to admit that no amount of alcohol would numb the residual physical pain of being shot nor would it put a halt to the downward spiral of his racing thoughts.

Loosening his tie and opening the top buttons of his white dress shirt didn’t make breathing any easier. He needed to get out of here, the boisterous energy of the crowd too oppressing. Jay mustered all his strength to get into an upright position, bracing himself against the soaring needles and pins in his side that were sure to come. With everyone preoccupied dancing or conversing, this was as good a time as ever to slip out of the festivities. It wasn’t as if any of the guests would miss him or even notice that he was gone. Will and Natalie would probably be the only two attendees to question his sudden disappearance and he was hellbent on avoiding them on his way out of the chapel.

Eyes roamed the room as his brain tried to strategize an escape plan. His brother was still at the bar; if he traversed around the far end of the hall, he had a good chance of making bail undetected. He maneuvered his way through the crowd towards the exit with cautious, stiff movements, the empty glass was discarded on one of the tables. The dizzying buzz of the alcohol on little sustenance to sponge it up left him lightheaded. For a brief second, he wavered. One arm reached out to support his frame against the paneled wall as he worked on regaining his equilibrium.

Once he felt steady enough to continue his trek, Jay belatedly spotted the familiar red mop of hair in his peripheral line of vision. He groaned to himself. Slowing his steps, he sluggishly turned towards the approaching figure and straightened his posture. “Hey,” he greeted with little enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Will echoed. His eyes shifted between Jay’s previous hiding spot and the exit, then settled back on his sibling. “Are you going somewhere?” he inquired innocently. The doctor studied him; brows knitted as he took in the ashen color of his little brother’s skin. With their Irish genes the Halsteads had a naturally fair complexion, but Jay’s current paleness was formidable and enough to warrant concern. Will couldn’t help himself, he had to address it. “You alright?”

Jay looked away. His features were schooled into a blank mask, the twitch of his left eye the only movement on his face. “I’m heading out,” he clarified Will’s first question, purposely ignoring the second. He scratched his eyebrow with the nail of his index finger, then swiped his flat palm over his damp forehead and over the top of his head, discombobulating his usually perfectly tamed hair in the process.

Will followed the notion with observing eyes and recognized the beads of sweat gathering below Jay’s hairline. They glistened in the warm yet bright overhead light. Tilting his head and adjusting his stance, Will moved his face in front of his brother’s, reestablishing eye contact. His frown deepened, the doctor in him won out as he instinctively started a visual examination of the man in front of him. Not only was Jay white as a sheet, but there were also fine lines of pain around his eyes. Purplish bruises underneath them stood out in a stark contrast to the otherwise pallid face and spoke of bone-deep exhaustion. Jay squirmed under the scrutinization, but his movements were listless. The wobble of his feet attested to the enervation, although inebriation possibly played a hand in the unsteadiness too. Will had reasonable doubt that Jay hadn’t eaten much either, thereby allowing the alcohol to take effect much faster than usual.

Speaking of which, the redhead belatedly remembered that booze didn’t mix well with the medication the younger Halstead was supposed to be on. Will mentally slapped himself for not thinking about that. He had been lenient with the beer Jay had consumed earlier, figured one or two of those wouldn’t cause much harm. It was their father’s funeral after all and if one occasion justified throwing caution and medical advice to the wind, it would be the death and burial of a loved one. However, the strong stench of whiskey wafting over with every one of his brother’s exhales told him that Jay hadn’t kept to the light stuff. Will should have paid more attention to Jay’s choice in beverages.

He was ready to call Jay out on his unreason, but the way his brother held himself tensely in a vain attempt to hide his discomfort stopped him. Maybe his assumptions were unfounded. While Jay was known to be reckless, he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to mix hard liquor with strong pain pills, was he? So, if he had drunk scotch that must mean he wasn’t on the meds. Considering the injuries, he had sustained less than a week ago, it was no wonder Jay was in agony. Damn the former ranger and his obstinacy about his health.

Will shoved the annoyance and disapproval to the back of his mind and patted down the pockets of his dress pants. “I’ll drive,” he decreed as he felt the bulge of his car keys in the right front pouch. Jay’s head snapped in his brother’s direction, mouth open and ready to protest, but Will held up his hand and cut him off. His previous decision not to confront him was blown out the window. “Don’t even try to argue with me, Jay. I’m a doctor. I can see that you’re in pain.” On cue, Jay rubbed his sternum where one of the bullets had hit the vest. “I know you haven’t been taking your meds seeing as you’ve clearly been drinking. I’m not letting you drive in this state.”

A flash of anger fleetingly crossed over Jay’s face. “I wasn’t going to drive. I’m a cop, I’m not stupid.” he muttered under his breath. “Besides, I took a cab here,” he added, feeling the need to defend himself against the implications of his brother’s words. He shuffled his feet, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated the wound in his side. A hand instinctively pressed on the injury protectively. A motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Will.

Refraining from saying anything about it, focused on the younger man’s words instead. “Glad to hear that,” he commended. “But it doesn’t matter because I’m not leaving you alone right now, baby brother.” The irritation in his voice had vanished just as quick as it had arisen. In its place, the statement was filled with a myriad of other emotions: disappointment, regret, concern, a hint of fear even.

Their conveyance triggered something within Jay. Not for the first time in recent days did it cross his mind how much his actions following their father’s death affected his brother. His decisions lately had been subpar; made in the spur of the moment without contemplation of the ramifications. He had to acknowledge that foregoing the pain relievers was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of dumb choices. To think that Will wasn’t shook by his blatant disregard of his own life was purely moronic. Jay noticeably deflated, any ounce of resistance instantly leaving him. His Adam’s apple bopped visibly as he swallowed and nodded in defeat. “Okay.”

Surprised by the easy surrender, Will eyed him suspiciously. But all he could find on his face was acceptance and fatigue. His heart clenched at the sad sight in front of him. He reached out and laid a hand on Jay’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “I’ll let Natalie know that we’re leaving. Do you want to come with or meet me in the car?” he asked, already knowing the answer by the sickly hue to his brother’s skin.

Mere seconds later, Jay confirmed his assumption. “I’ll wait in the car.” His voice was hoarse from booze and pain, barely louder than a whisper at this point. The detective closed his eyes briefly and pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again to look at the older Halstead, he offered a tired smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes. Will flashed one of his own, his thumb massaging his brother’s shoulder soothingly. His free hand fished the car keys from his pants and held them out to Jay. He waited for Jay to grab them.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied and gave the other a final pat on the arm before the younger turned to leave the premises. He watched his retreating form for a moment, then went in search of his girlfriend. Will found Natalie near the buffet and greeted her by laying a flat palm on the woman’s lower back. She looked up, grinning at him, but the smile fell as soon as she saw the sorrow in his features. “Is everything okay?” she asked compassionately. Will jerked his head minutely. “Jay?” she assumed, prompting a nod as he half turned in the direction of the exit where he had last seen his brother. A slender hand brushed against the fabric of his jacket right above the heart, causing him to face her again. “You’re worried about him.”

Will forced a smile and bowed his head. “He’s not in a good place right now.” Pulling at his bottom lip with his front teeth, he added, “I haven’t seen him like this since mom died.” Memories from this exact venue a decade ago assaulted him. He could picture it clear as day: same cream walls, dark furniture and floral decorations and candles, same people minus Natalie plus his father, just a different photo propped up on the shrine. He could especially recall the look on his brother’s face: the loneliness, the devastation, the sheer agony, the betrayal. The latter had mainly been directed at him. Will’s face contorted. “Jay, he…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve been a terrible brother back then. Left him to deal with everything on his own, because I was too chicken and too stuck up my own ass to think about him.” He paused, reminiscing and shaking his head in disgust. “I’ve been a jerk. This is my chance to make it up to him, so…”

“I get it, Will,” Natalie interjected. “He needs you right now.” Her hand trailed up his chest towards his face and caressed his cheek in understanding. Will closed his eyes and melted into the affectionate gesture, pulling the hand towards his lips and blowing feathery kisses onto her fingertips. “Are you going to stay with him tonight?” That was Will’s plan, but he felt conflicted. She sensed his hesitation and added, “because you should.” He graced her with a thankful smile.

“Yeah, I should.” A thought popped into his head and he couldn’t help the chuckle bubbling up his vocal cords. “He needs someone to make sure he eats and takes his meds. We all know he won’t take care of himself. Sometimes I wonder how he made it to thirty-two.” The snicker died in his throat when he recalled the many close calls Jay had had just in the short timespan since he had moved back to Chicago and ultimately waltzed back into his brother’s life. The latest incident didn’t even mark the worst of them. Following their mother’s death, his little brother had been left to grief alone by his own flesh and blood. With that in mind, his willingness to throw himself into danger wasn’t all that surprising anymore. Will gulped. “I should get going. I gave Jay my keys, so that he could wait in the car and I wouldn’t put it past him to drive off on his own, if I take too long,” he covered the residing anxiety with humor.

Jay wouldn’t do that under the influence, they both knew that, but the thought was amusing and oddly relaxing. “Take care of him. Let me know, how it goes, alright?” Will nodded and kissed the knuckles of the hand still clutched in his before gently lowered them to close the distance between their faces. Their lips connected, barely touching yet so intimate. To Will it felt like Natalie was breathing strength into him. She pulled away first, the palm against his chest pushing ever so slightly. “Go, I’ll see you at work.” Will nodded, reluctant to let go but knowing it would only delay the inevitable. He bent down to steal a final kiss, nose brushing against hers. Only once he stepped back and lost all physical contact with her, did he leave the chapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed my repeated mention of Irish culture. While it makes sense, considering that the Halstead's are of Irish descent, it's not the sole reason. I have fallen in love with Ireland years ago. The people, the landscape, the music, the dance. I've been practicing Irish set dance for years now, but as is the case with many activities nowadays with Covid-19, I've had to suspend dancing for an indefinite amount of time. So, writing about it is really my way of expressing just how much I miss it. I hope I managed to convey my love for the Irish music and dance in an honorable fashion.
> 
> Next chapter we're taking a closer look at past Jay's injuries.
> 
> Stay tuned. And as always: stay healthy and vigilant!


	5. It All Comes and Goes, All These Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay was an unthankful prick of a son to both his parents, a terrible leader to the officers under him, an overall horrible human being. Leaving his mom behind, letting his men die, killing hundreds of people, if anyone ever did, he deserved this pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 2008. This chapter is part one of two in which we learn about the extent of Jay's injuries.
> 
> I'm slightly nervous but also incredibly excited about posting this and the next chapter. I've put a lot of time and thought into creating a medical background for Jay. There's literally twenty or thirty pages worth of handwritten notes on his injuries in a binder on my desk. I basically wrote an entire medical file on him. Working as a nurse for more than ten years, I would like to think that I have basic medical knowledge, but what I procured here is way out of my field of expertise. I had to do extensive research on the injuries we get to see in this and the next installment.
> 
> Let me explain my thought process on Jay's medical history a bit. What we know from the show is that Mouse was medically discharged following an attack on the lead Humvee of a convoy which he and Jay were in. It's never been explicitely denied or confirmed that Jay was discharged as well, but according to Mouse they "went through the exact same thing" so I think it's safe to say he was. PTSD and depression generally justify a medical discharge. However, I think it's highly unlikely that they got away without any physical maladies. So, I looked into IED related injuries and, as expected, they can be quite grave, more often than not leading to death or at least leaving a person with lifelong disability of some kind. The Jay on the show doesn't exhibit any signs of residual physical health issues though, so those were out of the question.
> 
> That said, I walked the torturous line of figuring out what kind of injuries were serious enough to warrant a prolonged hospital stay and medical leave but wouldn't permanently damage him? I wanted things to be as realistic, believable and in canon as possible. The injuries mentioned in the next two chapters are the ones I came up with in the end. There's just one injury mentioned that I'm not going into detail with as of yet. You will learn about it later on, so don't be disappointed. I purposely left it out here.
> 
> Fair warning to all the medical professionals among you: with the amount of ground covered, there are bound to be medical errors in this. So please keep in mind that I'm not a doctor and I'm not claiming to be. If you notice any obvious mistakes in this, please let me know and I will try to fix them. Point out minor mistakes too, but also put them down to artistic freedom. This is fiction after all.
> 
> Apologies if I bored you with this lengthy note. I felt the need to get this out. But let's dive in now, shall we? Enjoy!
> 
> Title is from the song 'Woes' by Tom Rosenthal.

Whenever people took on the role of caretaker it shifted their perspective.

Motherhood was the perfect example to prove this thesis. Once a woman brought her first child into the world, it would change her in a way she would never have thought possible up to that very point in her life. The second the baby left the warm cocoon of the womb, its mother discovered a new part of her identity, a part she didn’t know was there beforehand. Holding for the first time a living and breathing creature that she carried in her belly for nine months was pure magic. But with that also came a responsibility. Suddenly she was entrusted with this new life and she was given the task of raising and nurturing this tiny little bundle into an independent human being. It was empowering and it also brought with it a constant nagging fear. The fear of doing things wrong, of doing too much or not enough. It was scary and it sometimes altered a woman’s personality tremendously.

Scientists had a logical explanation for this. When a woman became pregnant, chemicals in the female body balanced themselves in a unique way. Estrogen and progesterone were released in high levels to prepare a mother for giving birth and to help the fetus grow in a healthy way. At the same time, those floods of hormones increased the activity in the prefrontal cortex, midbrain and parietal lobes, therefore triggered areas in the brain that controlled empathy, anxiety and social interaction. This rationalized the behavioral transformation an expecting or new mother went through.

To put it simple, pregnancy handed women the key to a thus far locked secret chamber within them, thereby granted them access to the plethora of tools they needed to fulfill their new role. But even with those, or rather because of those mothers developed an unconditional love, an incessant worry and a fierce need to protect their child from potential harm. It didn’t matter if a mother’s child were a few months, twenty-five or fifty years old, those feelings would never cease.

Even on her deathbed, Sadhbh experienced those overwhelming emotions, the need to shepherd her children into a prosperous future and shield them from the hardships that were to come. She felt that way towards both her sons for she loved them equally. But it was her youngest who reawakened her motherly instincts so intensely that it almost choked her. Returning from the devastation of war only to slide into the putrefaction of disease left the once so resilient adolescent in a state of aporia. To see him in such a way gave her a renewed strength to fight her looming demise. She was determined to offer guidance, to lead him back on his path to success. For as long as he was lost in his limbo she couldn’t and wouldn’t leave the earth.

However, her decaying body reminded her of the fact that there was no way she could achieve this mission on her own. Laid up in a hospital bed, body too ravaged by the cancer, too fragile for her to even stand up without the aid of the nurses made her realize that she needed assistance to pursue her objective. Said assistance came in the form of a gangly, broad-shouldered young man, no older than her own son, with a chiseled jaw and ocean-blue eyes. Sadhbh had been intrigued by Greg Gerwitz the minute she met him. Laid-back yet upright, obedient yet assertive, compassionate yet unsparing, he had the ability to permeate the thick walls of the fortress Jay had erected around himself. Unafraid to stand up to him even though military regulations compelled him to respect and obey an officer of a higher rank – which Jay was – he knew when to abide by the rules and when to bend them.

Greg was the friend Sadhbh had desired for Jay ever since the once gregarious child had morphed into a brooding maverick during high school, an evolution not solely but largely evoked by her diagnosis and her oldest son’s move to New York. Jay had drawn into himself ever since, but the bold and brutally honest way in which the Army Specialist had been talking to him was testimony to his loyalty and spoke of a profound brotherly bond that Sadhbh had not even seen her own boys exhibit since they were kids.

In other words, the twenty-something year old made a lasting impression on her. He afforded her the opportunity to execute the scheme of getting Jay back on track by making Greg a partner in crime. Which was why Mouse found himself in an examination room three floors down from the oncology ward in the orthopedic department. Entrusted with taking care of Sadhbh youngest son, his best friend. He couldn’t help but feel like a prison guard ensuring that the inmate didn’t escape and to a certain extent this was exactly what he was doing. Chaperoning Jay was the only way to make sure that he didn’t weasel himself out of the promised appointment. And weasel himself out of it was what Jay undeniably would have done if Mouse didn’t stand sentinel to his brother in arms.

A petite African American nurse with dreadlocks tied into a messy bun led them into the doctor’s office. “Get comfy guys,” she directed them as she indicated the examination table in the middle of the room and a chair in the corner by the door. Jay shuffled over carefully, trying his best to hide his limp, and sat down on the table, feet dangling off. Meanwhile Mouse beelined for the plastic seat. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.” Greg nodded his appreciation, knowing that Jay was too far gone in his own thoughts to be bothered with it. The nurse graced him with a smile, then turned around and left the room.

Mouse made himself comfortable as soon as the door closed, exuding an air of calm as he leaned against the backrest of the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. But despite his outward leisure, his friend’s increasing anxiety alerted him. Jay’s eyes flitted towards the door sporadically and his fingers started a rhythmic tapping against the worn leather surface of the gurney. His continued bum shuffling put him precariously close to the edge of the exam table and his strained muscles looked to be on the brink of snapping. Greg wasn’t sure if the tension was a sign of pain or if the creases of pain on Jay’s face came from the rigidity in his posture. Either way, he needed to ease up. “Relax Jay.”

The drumming stopped long enough for Jay to mutter a quiet, “I can’t,” before resuming its erratic beat. It went on for another minute before Halstead pulled his hands into his lap and forced them to still. “How am I supposed to relax? I’m about to be poked and prodded by a whitecoat with my mom just down the hall, alone, listening to another depressing speech by nurses and doctors on how bad off she is.” The weariness in his voice was a stark contrast to his otherwise nervous energy and spoke of his inner turmoil.

“They’re just checking her vitals and helping her bathe. She’s fine Jay,” Mouse consoled him, but it did nothing to placate his friend. The other man regarded him with an arched eyebrow, the subsequent corner of his mouth twisting upwards in tired disbelief. Ignoring the look, Greg continued. “And you’ll just have a quick exam. Nothing more. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” That was a lie. After the culpable negligence of his health, Jay had quite a lot to worry about and they were both aware of the fact.

“She has terminal cancer, Mouse. She might not even have another month to live. By any means, she is not fine,” Jay called him out. “As for the rest, we both know this is not just a quick exam.” He air-quoted the last two words and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I went through PLDC, I know what an intervention looks like,” Jay explained, referring to the prerequisite leadership class he’d had to attend in order to become a sergeant. “And this right here?” he waved a hand between them, “this is an intervention.”

Gerwitz smirked satisfactory. “And it was long overdue my friend.” Halstead huffed in a petulant way, causing Mouse’s grin to spread into an even wider smile. He lazed into the seat a bit more, mildly surprised how much four years in the Rangers had desensitized him to all kinds of incommodities as he felt quite comfortable in the dowdy hospital chair. “You know,” he started, “it probably wouldn’t have come to this if you had taken better care of yourself in the first place.”

Jay shook his head, brows knitted. “My mom is dying. She’s my priority right now. Not… this.” He averted his eyes as the weight of his words brought a wave of sadness over him, brows dancing on his face as he tried to get his feelings under control. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to cry after his embarrassing meltdown earlier. Doctors were about to come in and he didn’t want to be sitting here a blubbering mess of tears and snot. He swallowed the lump in his throat and inhaled deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring and eyes blinking rapidly.

Quietly observing his friend, Greg considered his next words. He understood the other’s need to compose himself, but he also needed him to let loose of some of the pent-up emotions he was clinging to so dearly. From what he had gathered in the years of knowing Jay and especially the few hours since he got here, he wasn’t going to do that in front of his mother. Not again anyway. He probably wouldn’t have broken down earlier if he hadn’t been ambushed in the way he had. Shaking his head, Mouse already hated himself for what he was about to do. Aware of how blunt his next words were going to be, he pre-emptively braced for an explosion. “I know. And I get it. But whether you like it or not, there are people who care about you and don’t want to see you waste away while you’re trying to get by on a meagre disability pension at twenty-two.”

“Yeah? Like who?” Jay bit out sarcastically. Showing emotion. Good. “My coward of a father who is too busy hiding behind work and bottles of vodka? Who drinks himself into a stupor every night to avoid sitting with his dying wife, next to a son who he considers the biggest failure on earth?” he spat, fists clenching as he pressed them into his thighs, ignoring the pain that jolted up his left arm. “Or my no-show of a brother who doesn’t even bother to pick up his Goddamn phone because partying and screwing around is more important to him?” He shook his head vigorously. “I’m sure they both care tons about what’s going to happen to me.”

Mouse held his breath, eyebrows raised in consternation. The bitterness and the uncensored words took him by surprise, but it wasn’t what caught him off-guard. Greg knew that Jay wasn’t on good terms with his father and it was something they had in common; paternal parental neglect was something he was familiar with himself. That Jay brought him up was expected. What shocked him though was the animosity when he mentioned his brother. He’d always had the impression that the Halstead brothers got along well. Usually, on the rare occasions he came up in conversation, Jay had seemed proud, envious even as if he looked up to his older sibling. For him to talk negatively about him, something must have happened recently, something that went deeper than an ignored phone call. However, it wasn’t pertinent right now, so he deflected to the one person whom he knew to care about Jay. “Like your mom.”

His comrade laughed humorously; a sound so cold and hollow that Mouse couldn’t help but cringe. “She’s not going to be around to see.” While true the words were harsh and brought with them a vulnerability, a self-deprecation that he’d never seen his friend exhibit before. Didn’t his friend think his mother would care what became of him after her passing? Did he believe himself to be so unworthy of anyone’s love and affection? This was heartbreaking and Greg felt immensely disturbed by it. If he wanted Jay to see reason, he’d have to reach a little deeper into the bag of tricks, be a little more open about his own feelings even if it forced him to step out of his comfort zone. Maybe a little self-revelation would help him get through Halstead’s thick skull.

Untangling his legs, Mouse parallel-planted them on the linoleum floor, elbows propped up on his knees. He looked straight at Jay as he spoke two tiny yet so powerful words. “Like me.” The other ranger froze, jaw clenched and face an overall stoic mask. No emotion showing whatsoever. But Greg hadn’t delivered his finalizing punch yet. “I wouldn’t be able to survive another tour without you by my side. Not after what we went through.”

Dead silence fell over the room, the only sound their respective breathing. Mouse watched his brother in arms closely, waiting for any sign of recognition of what he had just admitted. But Jay didn’t speak, and as seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, Mouse resigned himself to the fact that maybe he had gone too far, said too much. A minute passed by, then another in which Jay didn’t move a muscle, seemingly checked out from this world. Greg sighed and pushed himself upright, putting the weight on his hands instead of his elbows, head hanging between his shoulders. It was in that instant that Jay chose to speak. It was barely more than a whisper, and his throat sounded clogged as he did. “You’d find another unit, with a better sergeant. Someone more competent and capable of protecting his men.” ‘Because I’m not,’ remained left unsaid but hung heavily in the air.

It was Gerwitz’ turn to be angry. “Bullshit,” he burst out, furious Jay would even insinuate that what had happened was his fault. He jumped up from his chair in a flash of anger, the furniture clattering first against the desk next to and then the wall behind it. The noise caused the other man to flinch violently, but it got him to finally acknowledge him. His blue-green orbs were frighteningly devoid of emotion and Mouse almost choked on the lump forming in his throat. Ready to knock some sense into his friend, he stepped forward, never losing the other’s line of sight. Though, as he opened his mouth, he was interrupted by the click of the door behind him. Jay was the one to break eye contact and when he did Greg turned around as well, annoyed by the poorly timed interruption.

The disruptive element turned out to be a man with wavy ash blond hair, approximately in his mid-thirties. His head was bowed, nose buried in a thick brown medical file. Missing the trademark white coat and wearing a navy-blue t-shirt instead to a pair of light grey jeans he looked rather unconventional for a doctor, but the tag clipped to his breast stating name, title and department identified him as an orthopedist. Upon entering, the well-toned man looked up, cognizant of the tension occupying the room. He glanced between the two young men before addressing the sitting one, clearly unfazed that he had barged in at an inopportune moment.

“Mr. Halstead, I’m glad you finally came to your senses. Though I must admit I would have preferred if it hadn’t taken you two weeks,” he greeted with a sternness in his tone. There was the faintest hint of shame showing on Jay’s face, a bit of color creeping up to his ears and eyes momentarily flitting from left to right, but other than that he held the doctor’s gaze steadily. Mouse, standing off to the side awkwardly, frowned. He had been under the impression that his friend had rebuffed all medical attention from the minute he’d flown in, but that didn’t seem entirely true as the doctor had obviously met Jay before today. Noticing his confusion, the orthopedist faced him. “I’m Dr. Oakes, I examined Mr. Halstead shortly after his arrival. It was quite a challenge. Are you the brother?”

Greg dared a quick look at his friend, the implication saddening him. With the lack of family by his side, Jay was missing a solid support system; his latest revelations were a depressing reminder of that. A fortiori Mouse was needed here. He shook his head and smiled somberly at the doctor. “Brother in arms, actually. Gerwitz. Army Specialist,” he clarified. To lighten the mood, he added with a smirk, “I’m here to make sure he doesn’t bail again.”

Dr. Oakes’ mouth twitched as he remembered his first encounter with the stubborn ranger. Halstead, notwithstanding his haggard appearance that day, had dripped with resistance and perseverance. He’d made it abundantly clear that he would not let his wounds stand in between him and his mother. “Not an easy task, I would imagine,” he deadpanned as his eyes landed on his patient again. Even from a few feet away rebellion oozed off the man, who refused to look the part of someone recuperating from severe trauma. If it weren’t for his schooled medical eye and the insight from reading the quite impressive reports, Dr. Oakes wouldn’t have believed the amount of damage to his body. “You’re familiar with Mr. Halstead’s injuries, I take it?”

Memories invaded Mouse’s mind momentarily. Pictures of singed and tattered army fatigues, the man wearing them bloody and bruised but somehow still standing, still fighting and determined as ever to get his men to safety. Pictures of him being flown out in a chopper surrounded by shouting medics hours later, barely breathing, barely alive. Pictures of him in a hospital bed, hooked up to vast amounts of machines and equipment keeping him in a medically induced coma, completely still, completely unaware of his surroundings. Pictures of drugged up blue-green eyes staring up at him, their owner already talking, already smiling again and eager to start therapy despite being too weak to so much as lift his head from the pillow. He would never forget those memories. They were etched into the forefront of his mind forever.

Sensing the doctor’s gaze on him, Greg let his eyelids droop briefly as he pushed the gruesome scenes to the back of his mind. “Yeah. I know all about them,” he answered quietly, biting the insides of his cheeks. He stared at Jay whose face had become a stony mask since the entry of the doctor. Chin protruding and mouth a thin line, stare fixated on something behind Mouse’s right shoulder, unseeing. The ranger had closed himself off from both the conversation and his emotions. Greg heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging with it, and turned away. He busied himself with straightening the furniture that stood askew in the corner of the room from his earlier outburst, then leaned against the table and crossed his arms.

Dr. Oakes observed the spiel in silence. He’d seen the reports, seen photos of the injuries right after the incident and they had painted a vivid scene of what must have transpired, but it was not the same as seeing it live and in color. He didn’t want to imagine what that must have been like. It was bound to leave scars of the mental kind. However, everyone handled those differently, and the two soldiers in front of him were on opposite sides of the coin apparently. But he was not an expert on psychological trauma; his job was to deal with the physical outcome. So, he flipped through the records again, then set the file on the small metal stand next to the examination table for comparison purposes. “Okay, Mr. Halstead, before I start with the exam, we need to establish a few rules.”

Jay, for the first time since the doctor’s initial greeting, fully acknowledged his presence. He tilted his head upwards and looked straight at the doctor. “Whatever gets me back to my mom faster,” he countered evenly. Mouse sighed audibly, drawing Jay’s attention to him. “I’ve said it before: she is my sole priority,” he stressed, piercing his friend with a penetrating look. The tension in the room skyrocketed as Greg held the gaze steadily.

“And you are mine, Mr. Halstead,” Dr. Oakes cut in, diverting the conversation back onto him. “The rules are quite simple. You’re a military man, so I assume you know a thing or two about following orders.” A chuckle sounded from Greg, accompanied by a bluster from Jay. “One: no hiding or blandishing the pain. You need to be completely honest with me.” The ranger rolled his eyes. “Two: you are going to abide by all additional screening I deem necessary. That includes taking medication. It’s my job to restore your health and I will do that with due skill, care and diligence.” Jay scratched his right brow with a fingernail, then pressed it against his forehead. “Are we clear, Mr. Halstead?”

The ranger straightened his posture and lifted his right arm in a mock salute to the doctor. “Crystal sir.” Dr. Oakes regarded him with an unimpressed look and waited for Halstead to drop his hand as well as the attitude. “I meant what I said: whatever gets me out of here faster even if it includes following your guidelines,” he emphasized his compliance. “Now can we get started? The more time we waste with formalities the likelier it gets that I break out of here.”

Not doubting that last bit for a second, even if his patient’s honesty surprised him, Dr. Oakes nodded. “Touché. Let’s get this underway then. Any injuries giving you more trouble than the rest? Discomforts that you weren’t experiencing two weeks ago?” he asked and was met with a shake of a head. Jay’s first lie but the doctor was none the wiser. “I’m just going to work my way down the list then, starting from the top. Loose the shirt for me please.” He and Mouse observed quietly as Jay fumbled with the Henley for a bit, grunting as it came to pulling it over his head and wriggling out of the left sleeve. Beads of sweat and creases of pain appeared on his face, breath hitching a bit.

As soon as the clothing item was off, the doctor started his visual assessment. “Pain level?” he asked en passant. Halstead held up four fingers of his right hand, not bothering to verbalize. Dr. Oakes’ eyes flickered to the appendage and nodded, then focused on the six-inch scar on the left side of his upper torso. It was a red angry line reaching from the shoulder towards the sternum, flanked on either side by the telltale puncture marks where staples had held the tissue together not that long ago. There was an oblong protrusion of the skin about an inch above, slightly shorter than the incision itself. He recognized it as the plate screwed in to fixate the broken clavicle. The whole area was still puffy and painted in faint yellow and green. The left shoulder hung lower in comparison to the right and sagged forward due to the injury of the bone, muscles and cartilage.

Having completed the visual aspect of the exam, he stepped further into Halstead’s personal space, ready to test mobility. He hesitated briefly, addressing his patient before starting. “If anything gets uncomfortable or is too painful, I want you to say so, okay?” Jay nodded his consent, bracing himself for the physical part of the exam. With his permission, Dr. Oakes sprang into action. Fingers glided over and palpated the length of the clavicle with skillful moves, starting from the center. From the medical file and the x-rays, he knew there had been multiple fractures, one to the midshaft of the bone and another close to the sternum. Bone fragments had splintered off at the medial end, the collarbone itself displaced, damaging the sternoclavicular joint as well as the surrounding structures. The latter had ultimately required surgery to reduce the bone, reattach it to the sternum and repair the torn ligaments. Medial clavicular fractures were the least common but given the cause of the injury it was hardly surprising that the bone had taken such a beating.

Whenever Dr. Oakes pressed down on a particularly tender spot, Jay grimaced but held still otherwise. As the doctor moved closer to the shoulder, he immediately noticed the swelling and stiffness of the muscles under his hands, neither of which had been there two weeks prior. Not at all happy with the signs of inflammation he glanced up at his patient. “I’m going to have to test range of motion. This is going to be extremely painful. Pain is most definitely going to spike. If you need me to stop at some point, say so,” he warned the younger man.

Receiving a grunt of approval, the doctor gripped Jay’s upper arm with one hand and placed the other on the joint, gently pulling and pushing the arm in every which way, inch by inch. Feeling the resistance as well as the miniscule crunching of ligaments beneath his palms, his face turned grimmer with every restricted movement he detected. He kept glancing at Halstead, noting that color rapidly left his face. Breathing became more ragged and moans of discomfort escaped his mouth from time to time. When Dr. Oakes gradually pushed the arm back and upwards, Jay couldn’t keep quiet any longer. A strangled cry gurgled out, followed by a wheezed, “stop.” Inhales and exhales came in shaky gasps as his right hand shot up to the left shoulder, his upper body folding into itself protectively.

The doctor halted his ministrations instantly and dropped his hands from the man’s joint. He studied Halstead for a minute; his whole frame was trembling, back muscles spasming in a painful way, face scrunched up and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. That Jay displayed his agony so openly and seemed unable to control it, was alarming. Dr. Oakes heard nervous shuffling from behind him then saw Gerwitz rush to his friend’s side. Ignoring him, the doctor spoke to his patient in a calming manner. “How bad is the pain?” Halstead didn’t answer, just bit down on his lower lip, so Dr. Oakes asked again, putting more urgency into his words. “I need you to tell be how bad the pain is. Otherwise I can’t help you.”

No reaction came from the ailing man, so Mouse took charge of the situation. He put a hand on his friend’s back and started rubbing soothing circles into the tight trapezius and deltoid muscles in hopes of easing the pain to a more bearable level. “Breathe Jay. You’re okay. Just relax,” Mouse coached softly as he continued to massage the tendons.

It seemed to do the trick; Halstead’s breathing normalized under the touch and he uncurled himself slightly from his hunched position. His right hand still shielded the shoulder joint from external stimuli, his left was clenched in a fist in his lap. The deep lines of pain remained on his features, a single tear trailing down his cheek as he forced himself to answer the doctor’s question. “Eight,” he panted through gritted teeth, jaw muscles working minutely. Another minute passed and the striking wave of pain subsided enough for Jay to look up into the concerned eyes of both the doctor and his friend, the latter refusing to leave his side. “I’m okay,” he assured scratchily to no one in particular.

“Fuck Jay, you’re not okay,” Mouse breathed incredulously, his own voice trembling. The sight of his friend in so much pain terrified him and reminded him of the agonizing weeks next to his hospital bed in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany. But not even then had he seen Jay like this since he was well-medicated throughout his whole stay there. “Has this happened before?” he couldn’t help but ask, afraid of what the answer would be.

“Once or twice,” Jay admitted quietly. “Might not have taken my pain meds.” His confession was barely more than a whisper but lacked emotion. Ever since he’d come back to Chicago, he simply couldn’t bring himself to care about his health anymore. All that mattered to him was his mom and making her as comfortable as possible. There was this constant thought running through his head, how unfair life was and how meaningless his was compared to hers. She was the kindest and most loving soul, she brought something good to this word whereas all he left in his wake was death and destruction. He was an unthankful prick of a son to both his parents, a terrible leader to the officers under him, an overall horrible human being. Leaving her behind, letting his men die, killing hundreds of people, if anyone ever did, he deserved this pain.

He lowered his gaze to his lap, unable to look Mouse or the doctor in the eye as the self-destructive part of him took over his thought process. Jay was aware that neither his friend nor the orthopedist would be happy with him and particularly his friend would be disappointed, his suspicions confirmed when Greg turned away and ran his hands through his light brown strands. “This is fucking unbelievable,” he said more to himself than Jay, voice muffled by his hands as he dragged them over his face.

Dr. Oakes was sporting a dour look of his own but found himself in the role of peacemaker. The damage had already been done and it was rather serious; no personal feelings would change that. So instead of reprimanding his patient, he addressed the pressing matter at hand: the pain and what caused it. A lecture could come later. “Continued strain from relieving posture when you’re in pain as well as immobilization of the joint for longer periods of time sometimes results in an inflammation of the capsule. We call that a frozen shoulder. The excruciating pain you’re experiencing upon movement and the severely limited range of motion suggest that you have this,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Two sets of eyes looked at him, one filled with furious worry, the other with indifference. He focused on the latter even though he knew his words wouldn’t really sink in. “We need to do an x-ray to be sure. However, we must do imaging of the rest of your injuries as well to see if bones aligned correctly, so I want to do a physical check up on those first. But before we do that, we need to manage your pain. I can’t examine you properly as long as you’re in this state.” He glanced between the two rangers, tension once again reining over the room, waiting for either to process what he was saying.

As it became clear that Halstead wouldn’t yield, Mouse cleared his throat. “If it is a frozen shoulder, how do you treat it?” he asked, eyes trained on him but flickering towards his friend. Halstead moved his head a fraction in the doctor’s direction, appearing not entirely disinterested in the answer to the question, though probably for entirely different reasons than Greg.

“Pain medication and physical therapy mostly, corticosteroid injections are an option as well, but we’ll talk about treatment once we have a confirmed diagnosis. Any other questions right now?” He glanced between Gerwitz and Halstead, the former shaking his head. “Alright then. I’ll have the nurse bring something for the pain and get radiology to schedule the x-rays so that we don’t have to keep you from your mother any longer than necessary.” The second part was meant solely for Jay and the young man gave the slightest hint of appreciation in form of a faint smile and a mouthed ‘thanks.’ “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he added as he retreated from the room.

Neither ranger spoke as they were each immersed in their own thoughts, Mouse’s desperately trying to make sense of his friend’s negligent behavior. The Jay Halstead he had known for four years had been full of confidence and determination. He knew what he wanted and was willing to push himself to and beyond his limits every single day to get there. Nothing stood in his way. No drill sergeant was too strict, too merciless for him. He never shrank down from punishments; he rose to the challenges of being a ranger, relished in them and he always excelled at missions. The Halstead he knew was a force to be reckoned with, was respected and popular amongst his comrades for his compassion, his loyalty and his integrity.

But the Jay Halstead in front of him now was not the same man everyone knew and loved. While he had known him to be a bit of a lone wolf and had seen him in vulnerable moments occasionally, he had never seen him so downright insecure and full of self-doubt. The most recent events had sucked the life out of him and left an empty shell instead. He was still caring, but all his caring went into his mother, nothing else held any significance to the usually strong and willful man. It scared Mouse and he was afraid what it would do to his friend once Sadhbh lost the fight against her cancer. And he had no idea how to help him, how to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one focuses more on the rest of the injuries and background information. I might post the second installment to this shortly after this one, because those two chapters are sequential.
> 
> Thanks for your continued support, especially to those who take that extra time commenting on my story. It means a lot.
> 
> Stay healthy and vigilant.


	6. Walls Are Made of Glass And They Are Hard as Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In spite of what you might think, you’re not invincible. You’re not fucking Captain America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the second installment of Jay's exam comes a little early. This chapter focuses mostly on the repercussions of the IED attack. It's loaded with medical stuff and while I'm content with that part of it, I don't really know how to feel about this chapter as a whole. I found it incredibly hard to balance the clinical with the emotional. My apologies in advance if this seems less fluent than the previous chapters.
> 
> Title is once again taken from a Giant Rooks song, 'What I Know Is All Quicksand'.

Career choices are influenced by many factors and not always easily made.

When parents or teachers asked a child what they wanted to be when they were older, the answers given the most were dreams based on values of compassion and justice. Kids wanted to be doctors and nurses, police officers and firefighters, sometimes veterinarians. Pilots and stewardesses, while not fitting the criteria of a helping profession, were at the top of the list as well. For most children, their fantasies diverged over the years. Their aspirations were affected by a shift in interest and personal principles, influenced by parents’ or society’s expectations, and swayed by the general outlook on income, accessibility and job security. The reasons were vast, and while some people lucked out and pursued their childhood dream, others were out of such fortune and never got the chance to try their hand at them.

And then there were those who started in their desired occupation only to have to give them up because of unfortunate circumstances. Being told that you couldn’t work your plum job anymore was a blow to anyone who ever had to experience it. Here there was this profession that they had acquainted themselves with for years, a profession in which they expected to flourish and climb the proverbial greasy pole and suddenly someone or something had the audacity to poke and burst their bubble. To many people this would inevitably lead to an existential crisis. Especially those without a plan B in mind had a high chance of falling into severe depression, and some would turn to alcohol or stronger, maybe even illegal substances to drown their sorrows.

To a certain degree it was understandable. Considering that people spend approximately half their waking life at work it was safe to say that a job accounted for a large portion of their personality. Losing a job was like losing a huge chunk of themselves, gone in a jiff. And with that came the tantalizing question of identity. Who were they really when such a vital part was severed from them? Having to rediscover and redefine themselves was a truly scary thing.

It wasn’t quite as theatrical for Jay. Halstead’s decision to venture into a military career to protect and serve his country had been made when he was fifteen years old. Not long after word had gotten out about the nine eleven terrorist attacks, which had gruesomely taken close to three-thousand lives, including those of his paternal grandparents. Determined to fight in the War on Terror, he had prepared himself for the physical demands a soldier was faced with from the moment his mind was set to the day he enlisted right after his high school graduation three years later. He hadn’t exactly aimed for the Army Rangers, but he had met all the requirements, aced all the tests and eventually breezed through one of the toughest training courses one could volunteer for.

With his unbounded ambition he had worked himself up the ranks from the very beginning, from Private to Specialist, from Specialist to Corporal and as soon as he’d made it the required minimum of three years in service, he finished the primary leadership development course to climb to the rank of Sergeant. But despite his determination and integrity to his chosen profession he had never expected to be on active duty for the rest of his life. On the contrary. Somehow, deep down he had always predicted that the physical and mental stresses of being in combat would catch up eventually and render him incapable of continuing at some point. In adolescent naivety he had believed that moment to come when he was well into his thirties if not forties. He had not however imagined his contractually eight-year commitment to end only halfway through. Sometimes things didn’t quite pan out as planned, and destiny had a cruel way of reminded people of that.

Life had thrown Jay a curveball in form of an improvised explosions device which ended up incapacitating him to a point where it was unclear whether he would ever be able to return to an action-filled lifestyle, much less that of an active army ranger. But it hadn’t been as dramatic as existential angst for him; Jay still knew who he was, and he knew who he wanted to be. Sure, it would have been a blatant lie to claim that the uncertainty of his future was never on his mind in the two months spent in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. But still, instead of letting the attack rob him of this vital part of himself, the young soldier had discovered an inner strength and resilience that he hadn’t known he possessed. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, the contemporary fragility of his chosen life had motivated him to push to and beyond his physical limitations. Just like he had been taught in Ranger School, by his coaches before that and his parents before that.

So no, it really wasn’t as extreme for him as it could have been, because throughout his whole stay at LRMC Jay had an unmatched discipline and willpower to recuperate at an exceptionally fast rate that had many doctors’ and nurses’ heads spinning. He fought tooth and nail for his convalescence, didn’t permit the many maladies to bring him down. He defied the odds and bought himself the ticket to freedom from the medical facility that he had been cooped up in for more than two months. Jay Halstead’s life couldn’t and wouldn’t be altered by a ludicrous IED attack.

The truth was, back then he merely hadn’t been introduced to his Achilles heel yet. He’d had yet to be privy to the war going on at home, a war much more personal and oh so futile, particularly for his beloved mother. He’d had yet to discover that his father couldn’t handle visiting his dying wife. He’d had yet to be brushed off over the phone by his brother, who was distracted by loud music, roaring college students and honey-sweet purrs of girls calling his name in the background. His by no means sheltered but still sturdy construct of a family had yet had to crack and slowly crumble like the twin towers had done on that fateful September day all those years ago.

Once introduced to the instability of it all, the hole opened the floor beneath him, threatening to swallow him and subsequently his career along with him.

Now, sitting once again in the cold and sterile examination room in orthopedics after hours filled with more than thorough physical exams, multiple x-rays, ultrasounds and MRIs in radiology, blood draws and whatnot, Jay couldn’t help but notice that his perspective had shifted immensely. His entire world had shifted since his ruthlessness had guaranteed his release from the military hospital in Germany. Getting back on his feet and resuming his career in the Army was no longer of importance to him, his chosen profession no longer a sufficient motivator to work towards recuperation. His only driving motor, his mom, was going to depart from this world, so what did it matter if the armed forces and his health took a backseat? So, what if he ruined his entire future? He didn’t know if he could ever return to a meaningful life anyway once she was gone.

Jay would never admit that out loud though, least of all to his mom or his best friend. It would break the former’s heart before the organ even had a chance to stop beating, and it would suck the breath out of the latter’s lungs. Gerwitz depended on Halstead to get through the day, just as much as Halstead depended on Gerwitz. And if Mouse’s earlier revelation were any indication, it was safe to say that he struggled with the events of their last tour. Greg might have gotten out with surprisingly minimal injury, but wounds weren’t always visible. The invisible ones were just as painful if not worse and confessing to them was even harder. Because how did you make other people understand what those mental scars entailed? While Jay envied his friend for being brave enough to open this can of worms, he didn’t feel comfortable to do the same. Certainly not now with everything else going on. Probably not ever.

He preferred to lash out. Delivering backhanded comments was easier, even if that disappointed Mouse. At least that was something he was good at: disappointing the people close to him, letting them down and failing them. It seemed to be a running theme throughout his entire life. Familiar, strangely soothing, lashing out didn’t even require him to break down those carefully constructed shielding walls, it merely compelled him to let loose of his self-control. Anger lurking in the shadow, waiting for endless hours only to break free in a quick ambush before it retreated to the protected fortress. An easily accomplished strategic mission. Just not as easy.

Even easier was denial, but that only ever worked for so long before things came crashing down. It was his preferred method as of now. He couldn’t be bothered with anything other than his mom. Everything else had to wait. He would always deal with the fallout later, right?

The ranger was jolted from his thoughts by the reentry of Dr. Oakes. The young doctor had a stack of black-and-white images as well as the familiar brown folder tucked under his right arm. He was barely through the door when Mouse jumped up from his chair in the corner of the room and piped up, “what are we dealing with, doctor?” Nervous energy radiated off him and Halstead almost laughed at the jittery behavior that was so undeniably Greg Gerwitz. He would never comprehend how someone with his vibrant vitality could rein himself to complete calm and equanimity while in combat.

Dr. Oakes glanced at him briefly but proceeded closing the door with a soft click and walked over to the desk to set the file and sheets down before fully acknowledging the two soldiers. “We’ve done quite a lot of imaging as you know. Those covered pretty much all the unremedied health issues you’re dealing with. I’ve consulted an endocrinologist regarding your post-op thyroid condition since I’m not an expert on that field. She will come see you later,” he preluded and spread out the scans on the tabletop. “We took x-rays of the shoulder, clavicle and several of the left leg from the hip to the knee as well as MRIs of the shoulder and knee. Some for diagnostic reasons, others merely as follow-ups. There is some good news, but they are shadowed by the bad ones. Which do you prefer to hear first?”

Two pairs of eyes landed on Jay, waiting for him to choose. When he remained silent and simply shrugged his uninjured shoulder in disinterest, Mouse took it upon him to decide in his place. “Let’s hear the good news first.” Halstead arched and eyebrow, bewildered that the other took charge like that but didn’t meet his eyes. It wasn’t lost on his friend though, so he faltered a bit. “If that’s alright with you, Sarge?” The use of his military rank surprised both rangers, and the other brow joined the first as Jay agreed with a jerky nod.

“Alright, then.” The orthopedist rummaged through the images. He picked up two and strode over to the illuminator on the far wall of the room, clipping the sheets in and flipping the switch on the side of the device. “These are the x-rays of your hip and femur,” he explained then paused as he skimmed through pages worth of medical and incident reports.

Of all the injuries the ranger had suffered, those were probably the ones that amazed Dr. Oakes the most. He wasn’t a specialist in war-related conditions, but he’d done extensive research on the topic when he had first been presented with Halstead’s case. The shock wave of IED related vehicular accidents often resulted in severe fragmentation wounds and internal injuries with a death rate up to fifty percent. Pelvic and spinal fractures were amongst those likeliest to occur. The chance of coming out of such an attack unscathed was next to nil. While the doctor wasn’t aware of what kind of injuries Gerwitz had sustained, it seemed like a miracle that he didn’t appear to have any lasting physical limitations.

Even Halstead with his lengthy list of injuries to the locomotor system alone had been lucky considering. A dislocated hip, stress fracture to the femoral head and partial fracture to the midshaft of the femur, while serious and requiring months of rehabilitation, seemed trivial in comparison to spalling or crush injuries with the possible outlook on amputation of a limb. The superficial penetrating injuries from metal and glass projectiles, minor burns, contusions to the lumbar spine and pelvic area along with strained and torn ligaments were mere scratches compared to lethal overpressure and implosion injuries or paralyzing spinal cord damage that could have been. The sheer forces the ranger’s body had been subjected to – and more importantly survived – were unimaginable.

He shook his head in astonishment. “I’m satisfied with the improvement of the femoral fractures. Both are completely healed. They were only partial fractures, so considering your age, physical fitness and overall health this should be expected eleven weeks post-accident. The hip is looking good as well. The femur head is in its rightful position and even upon passive manipulation doesn’t appear to be shifting unnaturally within the socket.” Dr. Oakes glanced at his notes from the physical exam. “You mentioned persistent weakness and tingling sensations down the leg though and I’ve noticed a foot drop when you walk. This indicates irritation of the sciatic nerve. It’s not uncommon after an injury like this. Anti-inflammatory agents will help reduce the remaining swelling pressing on the nerve. Alternating between cold and heat pads might also help. While painful and annoying, it usually resolves itself over time. I’m optimistic, but we’ll monitor it just in case. We’ll look out for signs of arthritis as well.”

Right eye twitching, Greg’s expression morphed into one of skeptical confusion. “Arthritis?” he repeated dumbfoundedly. “Isn’t that something old people get?” he blurted out, brows furrowing. Jay sported a similar skeptical face, his eyes narrowed slightly. It was amusing how in sync the two rangers were and spoke of their strong brotherly bond.

Dr. Oakes chuckled. “Arthritis is a degenerative disease often linked to age, but it’s not necessarily reserved to the elderly. In fact, it’s a complication commonly seen after injuries to the joint because stabilizing ligaments, cartilage and soft tissue are almost always affected by those as well.” He paused briefly before bringing up another factor playing into it. “From what the file says, you walked quite a distance after the explosion.” The doctor didn’t miss the grimace on both ranger’s faces. “Walking with a dislocated hip and fractures would have aggravated and scarred the surrounding structures and therefore put you at a greater risk of posttraumatic arthritis. But you are young, fit and healthy so I’m not too worried. It’s just a precaution we’re taking.”

“That’s encouraging,” Mouse replied, satisfied with the answer. Knowing that Jay wouldn’t bother commenting or asking any questions, he glanced and nodded towards the littered desk. “Any more good news on there?” he queried as he looked back at the doctor, hoping for a yes but not really expecting one after the disillusioning physical exam earlier.

The orthopedist held his gaze for a while. “Unfortunately not,” he replied with a sigh as he plucked the images of the leg off the illuminator and walked back to the desk. “I’m not at all happy with the rest of the findings. We should see more progress considering your overall health and the fast healing process in Landstuhl.” Dr. Oakes pulled another set of pictures from the stack and was just about to hang them up, when a snort sounded from the exam table, halting his actions.

“Not really all that surprising now, is it?” Jay quipped and met the doctor’s eyes with a tight-lipped smile. While he felt a tiniest bit discouraged by the disenchanting news, Jay refused to admit as much out loud. He felt the penetrating glare from Mouse just as much as he heard the disapproving puff, and from the corner of his eye he caught the disappointed shake of his friend’s head.

Letting the hand holding the x-rays drop to his side the orthopedist answered his patient’s semi-rhetoric query. “Not really, no. I wouldn’t joke about this though if I were you. I hate to say this, but if you don’t start taking better care of yourself soon, you’re looking at the possibility of long-term if not permanent damage.” His voice was serene, the gravity of the situation solely carried by the blunt choice of words. Jay had the common sense to look remorseful even though he didn’t feel it. It seemed to get the doctor off his back for now since Dr. Oakes proceeded pinning two new sheets into the light box. “These are the x-rays of your collarbone from two weeks ago,” he pointed to the one on the left,” and today.” He tapped the one in the center of the board, then added a third, much more detailed image. “And this is the MRI we took of your shoulder. There’s thickening of the capsule and ligaments here,” he explained as he circled the pertaining area of the joint on the middle and left sheet, “which confirms adhesive capsulitis, a frozen shoulder.”

Greg stood from his chair and joined the doctor near the illuminator, his persisting scowl morphing into a confused frown as he studied the images with roused interest. He could tell the difference between an x-ray and an MRI but was otherwise clueless about what he was looking at or supposed to see on there. The shades of white, gray and black just as well could have been satellite images of a newly discovered planet if someone asked him. Remembering their earlier conversation, he turned away from the board to inquire about treatment instead. “Meds and physical therapy, right?”

Dr. Oakes nodded. “Yes, that’s the standard course of action. Recent studies have shown that corticosteroid injections directly into the joint help speed up the healing process. It decreases the inflammation and thereby helps alleviate pain and improve range of motion. I would like to get this underway today to allow a faster recovery.” Halstead swallowed at the prospect of having a needle puncture straight into his shoulder but nodded his assent anyway. “I have to remind you though: the injection is not a substitute for pain relievers. For this to work you need to take them and follow a strict therapy regiment,” he stressed with a stern piercing look directed at Jay.

The ranger was tempted to roll his eyes but refrained from doing so. Instead he uttered a glum, “okay,” feeling distinctly uneasy with the urgency behind the doctor’s words. He was dismayed with the restrictions therapy would impose on him. However, he had promised he would abide with whatever treatments Dr. Oakes would encumber him with. He would just have to grin and bear it, even if it limited the amount of time he could spent with his mother. Which was indisputably the cruelest part of all this.

Satisfied with his answer, the orthopedist turned to the x-rays and indicated a stark white rectangle on the sheets. “This is the plate screwed in to hold the bone fragments together and help the clavicle heal. The pieces have mended nicely. There’s definitely progress here.” Mouse opened his mouth, ready to intercept, but the doctor held up a hand to stall his objections. “However, there’s a hairline fracture in the distal end of the clavicle, close to where it connects to the scapula. This wasn’t there before, and I can only speculate on how it came to be. Overexertion, premature weight bearing, continued strain from relieving posture – those are all possible causes. Whichever it is, it might have played into the development of the frozen shoulder.”

A deep frown crept onto Jay’s forehead, his lips forming a barely visible line as he picked at the chapped skin with his teeth. He squirmed on the leather cover of the exam table in unease, drawing the attention of the other two occupants of the room. “Do you have to operate again?” he asked quietly, eventually looking up at Dr. Oakes through long lashes, eyes wide and round. Greg heard the insecurity in his friend’s tone, felt the other man’s pain. The possibility of having to undergo an invasive procedure would separate him from his dying mother for at least a day or two. He sideway glanced at the doctor, praying that it wouldn’t be necessary. It would devastate Jay.

Curling his mouth into a reassuring smile, the young medical professional shook his head, glad that he could give the younger man a positive answer. “Luckily, no. It’s an incomplete break, no displacement of bone fragments. If immobilized it will most likely heal on its own, no surgery required.” Jay’s facial muscles visibly relaxed, showing his immense relief. “You will have to wear your sling again, though, which by the way you weren’t cleared to take off yet.” So much for good news.

Halstead averted his eyes, assuagement rapidly replaced by a mix of embarrassment and a good amount of frustration. He scoffed as he defended his actions defiantly. “I do have to take showers occasionally, so I had to take it off. Those things aren’t easy to put back on when you only have one hand to spare. It’s downright impossible. What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’ve been moving around much lately.” To him, his explanation made perfect sense but not so much to Mouse.

The army specialist sneered as he listened to his friend as his head bopped from left to right. “The big deal is that you broke your damn collarbone again,” he chastised. “You’re in a freaking hospital, Jay. Have been this whole time. This place is crawling with doctors and nurses. There are medical personnel everywhere around you. Why didn’t you just ask one of them to help you?” he asked, astonished by the sergeant’s poor excuse. He untangled his crossed arms and ran his fingers through sandy-brown strands of hair, scratching the back of his head.

Anger suddenly boiled up in Jay at the recurrent exhortations handed out by his comrade. It irked him that his supposed friend didn’t seem to understand or at the very least try to put himself in his shoes. He knew that his action or lack thereof were stupid, but valid or not he had grave reasons to behave the way he did. He wasn’t purposely harming himself; he just wasn’t proactive in moving his healing process along. It was pure idiocy, he knew that, but he didn’t need Greg to remind him of the fact every five minutes. Unable to harness his irritation any longer he growled dangerously low, “how many times do I have to tell you, my mom is…”

Mouse spun on his heel in a full pirouette as he barked a laugh that held no trace of humor. “She’s your sole priority,” he finished for him, equally as snarly. “I know, you said that numerous times already.” He heaved an exasperated sigh which didn’t calm him any. “What happened to you man? What happened to the determined Army Ranger Sergeant Halstead who couldn’t get started on rehabilitation fast enough? Where’s that punch, that hyperbole?” Of course, he knew what had changed, but he was unable to accept that his hero, the man he idolized so much gave up on himself like that. It infuriated him to no end. “In spite of what you might think, you’re not invincible. You’re not fucking Captain America.”

The tension in the room was so thick that it could’ve been cut with a knife. Jay’s back, neck and shoulder muscles were just as rigid, ready to snap like touch-me-nots. The ranger ignored the discomfort it caused even if the pain was dulled by strong meds. “The fuck, man? I’m not pretending to be,” he seethed, teeth crunching. Greg was right about some of what he said, but the last two sentences rattled him. He had never acted like he was indestructible or better than everyone else. Quite the opposite was the case. Sure, he was a leader, so he put on a brave face and wore an air of confidence because he had to set an example. But it was all a façade to hide his constant doubt, his fear of doing things wrong, of failing others. He thought Greg knew that.

Misinterpreting the meaning behind his friend’s words, Jay felt deeply hurt by them. The vexation from moments before was rivaled by mounting despair and self-doubt. Had he really given Mouse the impression that he thought of himself as someone above all things? If this was how the man whom he considered his best friend perceived him, what did that say about him as a person, as a sergeant? Was he really that aloof and arrogant? For a long minute, the two soldiers glared at one another. Neither of them so much as batted an eye, both too stubborn to shift their ground. But with the growing anxiety Jay was slowly losing his battle.

Dr. Oakes, who had silently watched the dispute unfold, noticed the increasing distress of his patient. An impending panic attack was brewing beneath the surface of Jay’s thinly veiled composure if his harsh breathing was anything to go by. Concluding it was time to intervene, he cut off the comeback that was on the tip of Mouse’s tongue. “Mr. Gerwitz, as much as I agree with you that Mr. Halstead shouldn’t gamble with his health like this, throwing around blame isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Mr. Halstead,” he addressed him in his no-nonsensical and clinical manner. “I understand that this is hard for you too, but Mr. Halstead doesn’t need to be judged right now. He needs your encouragement,” he enjoined the soldier. “If you continue to agitate my patient, I will have to ask you to leave.” Greg gaped at him, ready to protest, but clamped his mouth shut when the orthopedist gave him a pointed look. “I let you stay as a courtesy. Don’t make me regret this.”

Color rose to his cheeks and his ears burned upon being rebuked like this. “I, uh…” he stammered, unable to for a coherent sentence. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a hand down his face. Silently counting to ten he tried to calm himself before opening his eyes again, more collected than moments ago. “You’re right, doctor. I’m sorry, I was out of line.” He turned to his friend, a sheepish lopsided grin on his face. “I’m sorry, Jay.” The apology sounded lame to Mouse, but Halstead’s mouth twisted into a small thankful yet sorrowful smile. Always too forgiving for his own good, this was so typical for the sergeant and it saddened the specialist enormously.

It all really sank in then. His friend’s disregard of his own health was all about putting other’s people’s needs before his. The ranger had even said as much in unmistakable words, Greg had just refused to listen and read between the lines.

Dejected by his after-wit, every ounce of fury whooshed out of him in that instant. He took a tentative step towards the exam table, and his resolve broke when the younger man indicated the empty space to his right with a tiny jerk of his head. Mouse took the spot by his friend’s side, elbow brushing Jay’s. Halstead bumped his arm in response, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. Gerwitz briefly considered tugging him into a hug but wasn’t sure if such a display of affection was appreciated. Jay was an incredibly private guy and he’d never seen him actively seek physical comfort from anyone; for all he knew the other might just not feel comfortable with it. So, instead he just stood in proximity, offering silent support.

Pleased with the reconciliation, Dr. Oakes awarded Mouse with an approving nod before he bearded Jay again. “As I was saying, notorious wearing of your sling is a must from now on. You may take it off for showers and, if recommended by your physical therapist, for exercises, but other than that it’s day and night until I say otherwise.” Jay didn’t directly look at him but indicated his understanding with a single bop of the head. The doctor squinted at him, noticing that his skin was still ashen and slightly clammy. He figured it was more of a stress reaction than anything else, so he didn’t comment on it for now but made a mental note to keep an eye on him, nonetheless. “Okay. There’s one more issue that needs to be addressed.” He pulled the pictures from the illuminator and switched them out with a final set of images, tapping on them with a finger.

“My knee,” Jay announced for him quietly, unconsciously flexing the mentioned limb. He grimaced, simultaneously worrying his bottom lip. “Is it the meniscus?” He wanted to sound strong, but his voice had other plans. The croak coming out betrayed his anxiety. It was the only time – aside from the inquiry about the necessity of a surgery on the shoulder – the other two occupants of the room heard and saw something akin to fear in the young man. Hands were fidgeting nervously, and eyes flitted to the door minutely. Halstead wanted nothing more than to finally get out of the room and back to his mother’s. The appointment had already taken way too long, much longer than they had anticipated, and if his concerns were confirmed, he’d be kept away from her even longer. The thought grated on Jay’s nerves.

The doctor smiled glumly. “Yes.” He dragged out an exhale, expression turning grim. The knee was the part of the locomotor system most prone to injury as it carried most of the body’s weight. It absorbed the shock of every step, jump, rotation and sudden brake from motion. In the IED explosion, Jay’s left knee had been twisted, bent and compressed in most unnatural ways, yet it had miraculously withstood the abuse. It was a small wonder that the connecting bones had not splintered into a million fragments and had not damaged the tendons and soft tissue beyond repair. Dr. Oakes was amazed that the limb had resisted the sheer force of the blow with relatively minimal harm: a vertical nondisplaced fracture of the patella which hadn’t even required surgery, and tears of the anterior cruciate ligament as well as the medial collateral ligament, both of which had been successfully reconstructed. Astonishingly, the meniscus had been spared in the primary incident.

Fitted with a cricket pad splint and the option to switch it for a flexible brace within a month if everything healed nicely, Jay had left LRMC without the aid of crutches, which was saying a lot considering the amount of injuries just to that one extremity. Because of that, it was that much more disheartening that the cartilage which had defiantly remained intact throughout the gruesome incident and agonizing hours of walking on the injured limb in the mountainous terrain of Korengal Valley had surrendered at last.

Noticing the four anxious eyes trained on him, clearly waiting for an elaboration, Dr. Oakes cleared his throat. “You already mentioned the faltering, the locking of the joint and an overall feeling of instability in your knee. You both heard the clicking sound when I performed the McMurray test earlier.” Gerwitz winced at the memory of the revolting noise from when the orthopedist had repeatedly flexed, rotated and extended Jay’s knee in the physical exam. His friend seemed to feel the phantom echo too as he subconsciously touched the appendage. “That alone was a telling sign. The x-rays and MRI confirmed what we already knew.”

“Surgery?” Jay asked huskily and released a shaky breath. Even more color appeared to have drained from his face, permitting his many freckles to stand out. He glanced down at his knee contemplatively. He merely felt a small twinge at that moment but no real pain, in part thanks to the strong medication Dr. Oakes had given him earlier, which made it harder to believe that something was seriously wrong. In addition to that the loose-fitting sweatpants concealed the swelling and bruising that was going on beneath the dark grey cotton quite well. He felt the sudden urge to prove that his knee was fine and flexed the joint experimentally. But Mouse seemed to read his mind and put a hand on his thigh, just above the knee. Jay glanced up, took in the quirked eyebrow and reprimanding shake of his head. The ranger stilled his movements immediately. Instead, he frowned up at the doctor, tugging at his lower lip nervously.

Dr. Oakes, astounded by how in sync the two soldiers were when they wanted to be and by how well they communicated without the need of words, answered his patient’s question. “Not necessarily.” The orthopedist pointed at the MRI, launching into a more detailed explanation. “A healthy meniscus presents as two black triangles on both sides of the crevice between the femur and tibia bone. Your meniscus appears irregular on the image. See that traverse white line?” he asked his audience as he tapped the spot on the sheet. Both men nodded. “This confirms the tear on that side. Luckily, it’s minor and on the outside of the joint. These kinds of tears don’t usually require surgical repair.”

Jay released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and Greg squeezed reassuringly where his hand still rested on his friend’s leg. They exchanged an honest smile, both relieved that the younger wouldn’t have to abandon his mother for an indefinite time because his neglect of his injuries necessitated an operation. It was a small reprieve that he basically got off scot-free despite his lack of care for himself. There were still small mercies to be had in the sergeant’s currently dismal life. However, their moment of respite was short-lived, the doctor’s still grisly expression sobering them up rather quickly. “I sense a but coming,” Halstead stated dreadfully.

The doctor squared his jaw. “Your previous injuries to this very much delicate joint were not yet healed.” Jay gulped, intuitively knowing where the man was going with this. “You were advised to wear the splint for at least two weeks beyond your initial discharge. The reason why this was recommended is that the structures of the knee need a lot of time to mend properly. Premature weight bearing increases the risk for secondary injury, because the surrounding muscles, tendons and soft tissues are still weakened from the damage. If you had abided by the instructions given to you, the meniscus tear could have been avoided,” he scolded with a stern look. Halstead averted his eyes and fumbled with the strings of his sweatpants before reverting to his old habit of picking on the dead skin on his nailbeds.

Sharing a troubled look with Gerwitz, Dr. Oakes sighed. “Look, I don’t know if you intend on going back to active duty, but I gathered that your health is not your immediate concern at this time. What I do know is that you want to spend every waking minute with your mother.” That caught the ranger’s attention. He stilled his hands and raised his head just enough to indicate he was listening but not enough to meet the orthopedist’s eyes. “If you don’t follow instructions, surgery might become an imperative necessity, and that will keep you from your mother for a minimum of two days, probably longer. Since you asked, I know that you’re very much aware of that fact.” A timid nod confirmed his suspicion. “I really can’t stress this enough: you need to wear the splint, you have to wear that sling, and you must take physical therapy seriously. It sucks but it’s the sacrifice you’ll have to make if you want to spend as much time at your mother’s bedside.”

With tears pooling in his eyes and a lump the size of a baseball blocking his throat, Jay was unable to verbalize that he understood what the doctor had said. So, he bopped his head once more instead. He was visibly distraught, his face ghastly white and rutted with lines of overwhelming emotion. There was so much pain there, the physical melting into one with the mental stress of everything he had been and still went through.

Dr. Oakes felt deeply sympathetic towards the young man. He looked so much older than the twenty-two years stated in his file. Worn out, whipped and wrecked by the worst horrors and terrors life had to offer. And he didn’t seem to catch a break. It wasn’t fair, but then again life wasn’t fair, and it always found a way to kick those who were already down on their knees, his patient quite literally so. “We’ll fit you a new sling and a new splint. The discussion of meds can wait until you’re settled back into your mother’s room. I suppose that’s where you need to be right now, eh?”

Halstead lifted his head and smiled through his otherwise distorted features. He was grateful that despite his less than compliant attitude the doctor remained so nonjudgmental and understanding throughout the whole meeting. He’d have to thank the orthopedist for that later when he was less emotional, more in control. But right now, Jay wanted nothing more than go back to his mom, squelch the overwhelming anxiety of not knowing how she was faring in his absence. He’d been gone far too long already and the only thing holding the impending panic at bay was the unyielding presence of Mouse next to him, the miniscule brush of their biceps his only link to his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this pretty much covers the injuries sustained in the IED attack. Only one is left to be explored. Hints were already dropped, so if you want to take any wild guesses, go ahead. Next installment will focus on Jay and Will on the morning after their father's funeral.
> 
> I don't usually ask for reviews since I'm the worst when it comes to commenting on other people's work, and I don't want to be a hypocrite. But for reasons stated in the note at the beginning, I feel rather insecure about this one. So if you could drop a line or two and let me know what you think, that would be absolutely awesome.
> 
> As always, stay safe and healthy!


	7. It's Been So Long Since You Came Out to Lead Me Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those were flicks of the wrist that came natural to Will from years of medical practice, and they had an oddly soothing effect on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 2018, this chapter picks up right after Jay and Will left their father's reception. This installment yet again deals with Jay's injuries. My apologies if it gets too repetitive. This one offers some insight into Will's thoughts, not so much on Jay.
> 
> I'm not satisfied with how the chapter turned out, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Title is from 'Honeyguide' by Frances Luke Accord & Humbird.

Ironically, the commute from McInerney’s Central Chapel to Jay’s one-bedroom apartment led them along Halsted Street.

At thirty-two miles in length and a total of 168 blocks from north to south Halsted Street marked one of the longest thoroughfares of the city. It reached from West Grace Street in Lake View all the way down to West Eagle Lake Road north of Beecher, Illinois. Traveling from the North Side through Lincoln Park and Old Town, it soon moved into the Near West as it paralleled the Kennedy Expressway to enter the West Loop, then Greektown before embarking the South Side. There it bypassed several working-class neighborhoods from Bridgeport to Canaryville and Back of the Yards in the South Loop before extending into Englewood, Washington Heights and finally West Pullman. Leaving Chicago for its southern suburbs by crossing the Little Calumet River, Halsted Street bended once, wove through the village of Phoenix only to head for its finishing stretch.

Halsted Street had not always been named that. It had formerly been known as First Street, later to be renamed Dyer Street after prominent abolitionist Charles Volney Dyer. It had adopted a few nicknames along the way, varying from ‘Egyptian Road’ due to its route directed towards Little Egypt in Southern Illinois, ‘Migration Mile’ for its significance in immigration and settlement of various nations, and ‘The Backbone of Chicago’ because it cut through the city’s most important neighborhoods. However, its contemporary name dated back to Philadelphian banker brothers William H. and Caleb O. Halsted.

Back when the Halstead brothers with a second ‘a’ in their last name were young and naïve boys, they had believed that the road had been named after their family. That William H. and Caleb O. were their ancestors, and the missing ‘a’ was just a misspelling by whoever had been responsible for setting up the street signs all over the city. Living and growing up only a few blocks from Canaryville’s demarcation in the west it had seemed only plausible to gullible Will and Jay. Their firm conviction had been the cause of many laughs amongst their family. Especially their maternal grandfather had been amused. He had even playfully suggested that Jay should change his name to Caleb once he was legally allowed to, just so that the brothers could step into the street’s eponym’s footsteps one day.

Will couldn’t help but chuckle at the pleasant memory as he drove north, the brightly lit campus of the University of Illinois coming into view on the left. Things had been good in their early childhood years, easier and more carefree. They had been a mostly harmonious family back then. He and Jay had been inseparable, each other’s best friends and equals in every sense of the way despite the two-and-a-half-year age gap between them. As they had grown older, with him entering puberty and both evolving to different interests, they had unavoidably drifted apart, but the way Will remembered it they had still been somewhat close. Up until he had decided to move to New York and pursue his dream even after learning of their mother’s diagnosis. Thinking back, it had probably been the turning point. But ultimately, it had been their contrasting approaches to dealing with their mom’s illness, above all the way he had handled her death, that had eventually caused this giant rift between them. A rift that was more of a ravine, ostensibly unsurmountable.

Sure enough, they were on speaking terms again, had been for years after the initial radio silence that followed the events after the funeral. They had even gotten closer again since Will had moved back to Chicago four and a half years ago, and he honestly hadn’t expected the easy camaraderie to reemerge after everything that had happened between them. But he was glad that they had been able to reconcile to a point where they spontaneously met at Molly’s for the occasional after-work beer or watched a game together and without hesitation loaned the other the couch if it got too late or one of them was too inebriated to drive home. They cared about each other, and most people never even suspected them to have unresolved issues from the past between them. Some of them even considered them lucky and envied their close sibling relationship.

But the Halstead brothers knew it was only ever surface level. When they sought each other out after particularly demanding days at work, the offers of silent support were usually awkward and strained, tainted by underlying guilt and resentment. And their easy banter was merely a way to dodge talking about the emotions brewing underneath. They never touched upon the dark matter that weighed so heavily on them. The culprit of it all? Fear of rejection and lack of trust on Jay’s side, brought on by Will’s neglected duties as an older sibling to back and comfort his little brother through the hardest time of his life. Now, with their father’s death freshly looming over their heads, he more than ever wished to erase the fear and regain the trust.

Heaving a sigh, the redhead shook his head. Everything was just so complicated nowadays, the simplicity from all those years ago was no more.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Will left Jane M. Bryne Interchange behind on their right and passed through Greektown before taking a left onto West Monroe Street. From there it was only a few more blocks to Jay’s apartment. Movement caught his eye. He allowed himself a quick glance, and in his moment of abstraction accidentally hit a pothole, eliciting a quiet groan from the passenger of the car. It was the first sign the entire twenty-minute drive that he was awake. The ever-present tension in his shoulders were the only other indication that the brunette was in fact not sleeping, which was what the redhead had originally assumed when he had found his brother slumped in the shotgun seat earlier. Body propped against the door, head resting against the window and eyes closed, Jay hadn’t shifted from that position since. Up until now that was.

“Sorry,” Will apologized, daring yet another quick scan of the other man. The right arm had wrapped tighter around his midsection, protectively holding the corresponding hand against the wound in his side. His breathing came in sharp wheezing puffs, the intervals a little too frequent for his liking, and the doctor wondered if maybe something had been missed in the initial examination. Then again, the shooting had been almost a week ago. If something were critically wrong, Jay wouldn’t be sitting in the passenger seat next to him. “We’re almost home,” he reassured quietly, more to himself than the younger man, but he received an acknowledging nod anyways. Three more blocks and he would be able to check on him.

Crossing South Morgan, then South Aberdeen Street and finally South Racine Ave, Will searched for an empty lot to park the car. He found one right in front of Jay’s apartment building and thanked the Heavens for the rare treat. Climbing out, he rounded the vehicle to help the detective, but Jay waved him off and pushed himself out of the car seat onto wobbly feet. It was a challenge, but he succeeded. They made the short trek to the entrance in silence, with the older brother lingering just a step behind and to the left of the younger, ready to assist in case it was necessary. However, his aid wasn’t needed; the brunette managed to hold his own all the way to the second floor, though he was breathing just a tad harder by the time they made it to his door.

The younger Halstead fumbled with his keys for a bit, the slight tremor in his hands not lost on Will. He was just about to snatch the set from his brother’s hands when Jay fitted the metal into the lock. Dropping his shoes by the door and the keys into the bowl on the side table in the entryway, the former ranger didn’t even bother to check whether the ginger followed him into the apartment. Instead, he beelined to his bedroom and from there straight into the adjacent bathroom. Coat and tie were thrown haphazardly onto the bed in passing, and by the time his brother reached the threshold of the en-suite, the white dress shirt was already unbuttoned, revealing the detective’s chiseled chest.

Will’s gaze was instantly drawn to the rainbow-colored bruising on Jay’s torso; the purple almost black speck where the bullet had hit the vest fanned out into bluish green before fading into a sea of yellow further away from the center. The entirety of the spectacular artwork was about the size of a dinner plate and looked more like a topographic map from an atlas with the color coding gone wrong. For all his years as a doctor and the many variants of contusions, Will still found himself taken aback by the captivating sight. The man in front of him wasn’t some random no-name in the emergency room. This was his brother. And no matter how many times he got injured on the job, it would never get any easier to see him hurt.

Before long, his eyes shifted to the thick white patch of gauze below his brother’s ribcage, a faint yellow and green tint peeking out under the tape, more bruising sure to be hidden beneath. There was a dark brown splotch in the middle – a clear sign that the wound had bled again at some point. The doctor in Will already started speculating whether Jay had pulled his stitches and mentally prepared himself for the struggle that would ensue if that were the case. As though he was reading his mind, the younger man followed his line of sight and glanced down at his abdomen, then back up at his brother. Their eyes met, exchanging worry albeit for completely different reasons, and the redhead took it as a cue to jump into action.

“May I?” he waved his hand towards the bandage. Jay approved with a timid nod and forced himself to stand still as Will carefully peeled back the tape. He inspected the bullet hole and the suture work, relieved to find no stitches broken, though he wasn’t happy with the angry redness surrounding the wound. “Did you change this at some point?” he asked, looking up at Jay. A nod. “Clean the wound properly?” Another bop of the head. The detective swayed on his feet as a bout of dizziness washed over him and grabbed onto the sink for balance. “Sit down,” Will ordered upon noticing his brother waver. Jay obeyed and situated himself on the closed toilet seat. “When?”

The query confused Jay for a moment, his sleep-deprived and slightly intoxicated state slowing his brain, but when the other opened the narrow cabinet in the corner next to his shower stall, pulled out the fully stocked first aid kit he kept there and rummaged through its contents, he concluded that Will was referring to his last change of dressing. “Three days ago, and then after showering this morning,” he replied and watched as his brother snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and laid out multiple items on the sink for easy access. “It wasn’t bleeding this morning,” Jay elaborated, thinking this was why Will asked. “Did I pull any stitches?”

Crouching down in front of him, the older Halstead shook his head. He pulled the stained bandage off the rest of the way, discarded it into the trashcan and grabbed the disinfectant and a sterile gauze pad to clean the wound, starting from the center and moving to the outer area. “No. But it might be infected,” he professed absentmindedly. Will carefully pushed down on the puffy surroundings, eliciting a hiss from Jay. He halted his movements for a brief second and smiled apologetically, continuing when the sitting man remained quiet otherwise. Through the thin layer of the glove, Will noted the warmth radiating from the injury, another sign for his assessment. However, both could very well be put down to the body trying the mend the tissue.

“There is no pus yet, so that’s good. Could very well just be irritated from the sutures and you moving around all day. I’ll put some Polysporin on it just in case.” At Jay’s questioning look, he explained, “it’s an antibiotic cream. It will hopefully keep infection from setting in.” The doctor grabbed a tube from the sink, unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the clear gel onto his finger before applying it onto the ragged skin. Adding cuticell, a non-adhesive dressing and a couple layers of gauze, he secured his work with medical tape. “Done. I’m going to check on this again tomorrow.”

He pulled off his gloves and threw them into the bin, along with the empty packaging of the dressings, his eyes meanwhile resuming their visual assessment of the impressive landscape on his brother’s chest. Will tilted his head, silently asking for permission to check on the contusions as well. Jay merely let his head fall back against the tiles in resignation. The redhead’s fingers ghosted over the skin with skillful movements, gently palpating the darker areas, the other wincing sporadically. The younger man blew out a defeated, shaky exhale, and a whiff of whiskey and beer tickled Will’s nostrils as the breath hit his face. For some reason, the smell made him angry. Not at the detective but at himself as it carried a cruel analogy that he hadn’t been aware of up until now: he hadn’t been by Jay’s side as he had consumed the alcohol, instead he’d left him alone throughout most the afternoon and evening, on the reception of yet another parent. Upon realization, he pressed down just a bit harder than necessary on one of the more tender spots, eliciting a miniscule flinch from his little brother.

“Sorry bro,” Will mumbled ruefully, grinding his teeth at his stupidity. Jay shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting in a poor attempt to reassure him, completely unaware of the other man’s self-loathing. Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, the older brother continued his ministrations in a quick and effective manner. Once he was done, he lifted his hands from Jay’s skin, hovering above the chest not quite touching but enough for the other to sense its nearness. “Alright so, there’s extensive swelling around here,” Will drew a circle in the air just above the dark mass off to the right of his left pectoral, “and down here.” His index finger indicated an area two inches lower, closer to where the bottom two ribs connected to the sternum. “There’s a small dip here when I press down. Ethan didn’t mention any broken ribs, though?”

Jay shook his head. “No, he said it’s just hairline fractures.” He grimaced as he shifted on the toilet seat to obtain a more comfortable position but couldn’t find one so gave up on it and busied himself with counting the tiles behind his brother to distract himself.

Slightly alarmed by his brother’s revelation, Will raised his eyebrows at him. This little fact was new to him. He hadn’t read the medical report, just gotten an abridged version from Dr. Choi when Jay had been released from the hospital. “You do realize that a hairline fracture is basically just an incomplete break?” he burst out in exasperation but quickly reined himself in upon seeing the flash of hurt on the detective’s face. The brunette wasn’t a doctor, besides Will didn’t blame him; much rather he was annoyed with his coworker for neglecting to disclose such an important information to him. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his nerves before asking, “did you hear a snapping or cracking noise sometime over the past days or feel a popping sensation? Any sharp pain when you’re breathing in?” He studied the other anxiously. “Please be honest with me Jay.”

The younger brother knitted his brows and sucked in the corner of his upper lip, genuinely trying to recall. It surprised the ginger since deflection and brush-offs were his usual go-to tactic in situations like this. “Uh… not really a snapping or cracking. More like grinding, like when your grating cheese or something. No trouble breathing or at least no more than usual.” His teeth nervously pulled at the chapped skin of his lips. “Should I be worried?”

Will put a hand on his brother’s knee and squeezed as he took in the uncertainty on Jay’s facial expression. “It’s not exactly uncommon in injuries like this, but I would feel better if you got another x-ray just to be on the safe side.” Jay closed his eyes and slumped into himself in rout. Will instantly felt bad for even proposing another trip to the hospital, when exhaustion radiated from every one of his brother’s pores. The younger Halstead never fully let his guard down in front of anyone, so to see him in this state now was raw evidence of how emotionally and physically drained he was. “We can do it tomorrow,” he offered, “if you promise to tell me the minute pain or breathing become worse.” Remembering that their definition of worse oftentimes differed greatly he added, “and I’m not talking excruciating pain where you’re on the verge of passing out or the kind of breathing difficulties where your lips and fingertips are already turning blue, got it?”

Too tired for anything else, Jay merely opened his eyes and nodded, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. It was enough to bear Will out on his decision to avoid the additional stress spending a night in the emergency department would bring. His little brother needed sleep first and foremost. And in order to do that: pain relief. Will pushed himself up off the floor and walked over to the bathroom cabinet, grabbing the first aid kit and stowing it away in its original place while searching the upper shelves with his eyes. He didn’t find what he was looking for though. “Where do you keep your meds?”

Jay tried but failed to push himself into a more upright position, ready to fetch the offending chemicals himself. But Will was there in an instant and pushed him back down onto the seat. “Kitchen,” Jay supplied through gritted teeth. He braced his left side with one hand and massaged the bridge of his nose with the other as he breathed through the minor pain spike.

Rubbing his shoulder with slow circular motions of his thumb, Will helped him relax, relieved that the other accepted the touch without any protest. “I’ll get them. Stay here.” Jay obeyed and watched his brother’s retreating backside, only to close his eyes and hunch into himself once Will was out of sight. “Where exactly?” His brother’s yell came from across the hall a moment later.

“Hanging cupboard, above the sink,” Jay called back. He listened to the creaking sound of a cupboard being opened, followed by the rattling of pill bottles and running water from the tab. Will reappeared with a glass of water in one hand and three tiny orange containers perched precariously on his other. He took the cup from his brother, allowing him to prepare the meds. There was the slightest hesitation as Will opened the first bottle. “What?” Jay inquired upon noticing but Will refrained from answering, shaking his head instead while busying himself with the other containers. Seconds later, the tablets were held out to him in silence. He picked them up, popped them into his mouth and washed them down with large gulps of water.

“Jay, when did you take your last dose?” Will asked quietly once the glass was empty, arms crossed in front of his chest. Alarmed, the younger Halstead looked up, opening his mouth as he tried to come up with a lame excuse, but his fatigued mind came up empty. “Did you take anything at all since you threw me out five days ago? Because those pill bottles were just as full as I left them after filling your prescription at the hospital.” His voice was serious and dangerously low.

Embarrassed about being found out like that, Jay lowered his eyes to his lap, finding himself suddenly mesmerized by the remaining droplets of water in the cup. He tilted and twirled the glass in his hand, watching as one droplet followed gravity, swallowed every molecule in its way yet left a trail of others behind. “I didn’t need them,” he answered quietly. The liquid pooled at the bottom when he stopped his little science experiment.

Will huffed in irritation and threw up his arms. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself?” he exploded, provoking a flinch from his sibling. “You could have died five days ago! Died, you hear me? Those bruises on your chest are prove of that. Hell, if you hadn’t worn a vest, if the force of that bullet had been just a bit more powerful and went through, you could have… you would have been dead.” His breath hitched. “Do you get that Jay? Do you even realize how close you came to dying? Do you even care?” He turned away, unable to look at his brother right now. He heaved a trembling sigh, attempting to calm himself down a bit. Tears brimmed his eyes as he veered back to face Jay. “I almost lost you. Two days after dad died, I almost lost you, my brother, the only relative I have left.”

His voice cracked and the exuded anguish hit Jay like a ton of bricks. His upper body folded further into itself, the protesting ribs were ignored as hot tears suddenly burned his own eyes. A sob caught in his throat made for a pitiful noise. “I know. And I’m sorry.” He sounded the part too. “I know how fucking stupid I was, Will.” The self-denunciation was almost too much to endure for the other Halstead. “I just… Can we please have this conversation when my head is a little clearer?” he pleaded, voice barely above a whisper and pain resonating with every word. “I’m an ass. I know that. But I’m so freaking tired.”

The redhead shook his head and closed his eyes. Pressing his index finger and thumb into his eyes, he eventually nodded in agreement. “Let’s get you to bed then,” he relented. He knew it would be harder to get through to Jay tomorrow when he was more rested, when he’d have had the time to erect his walls around him and prepare himself for the impending argument, but it wasn’t fair to go off on someone who was basically defenseless due to bone-weary exhaustion. His brother deserved a fair game.

He closed the distance between them, offering a hand for his little brother to grab. Surprisingly, Jay took it and pulled himself up gingerly, mindful not to move too fast or strain anything too much. But in typical Jay Halstead fashion he let go of the helping appendage the second he was upright, slowly making his way towards the bedroom. He slipped out of the sleeves of his shirt and dropped the pants, leaving both in a heap on the floor as he sat down on the edge of the bed in just his boxers. Shivering slightly, Jay groaned in realization that his attire wouldn’t be enough to keep him warm throughout the chilling October night. He contemplated asking Will, but his brother already held out a loose-fitting t-shirt with the police academy emblem. With a small smile he grabbed it and pulled it over his head, grimacing as it jostled the abused pectoral and abdominal muscles.

Will watched him quietly. It was a mystery to the doctor how his brother had managed to get himself presentable for the funeral this morning. If the minor task of putting on a top already caused Jay this much pain, how in the world had he managed to slip into his suit, much less fasten his shoes? There was no denying the detective was in copious amounts of pain even with the aid of pain meds and he didn’t have that this morning. He shook his head and sighed at his brother’s stubbornness, not for the first time noticing how scarily alike Jay and their father were in that regard.

“What’s on your mind?” Jay asked when he caught the motion, laboriously scooting back on the bed to get himself settled and ignoring the fact that he was laying on the covers instead of under them. The task of moving yet again appeared nearly impossible but he’d regret staying like this once the temperature in the room dropped. Sensing his inner debate, a still hovering Will rushed to his rescue. He swiftly pulled the blanket from under him and tugged his little brother in. Just like he’d done when they were still kids and Jay was sick.

Swallowing against the onslaught of memories and the emotions that came with them, he answered, “I was just thinking about the old man.” He busied himself with the adjustment of pillows, placing them behind his head, back and shoulder blades in a way that would make breathing a little easier. Those were flicks of the wrist that came natural to him from years of medical practice, and they had an oddly soothing effect on him. Jay shifted compliantly as he did so, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position in which he could drift off into slumber. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” He patted Jay’s shoulder, then turned around to leave.

He was halfway through the door when Jay called out to him. “Crash on the couch tonight?” Will twisted around, stunned by the question. Catching his brother’s blue-green eyes, he was shocked to find an expression of unsure anticipation painted across his face. It was so unlike the demeanor he had exhibited all week, not at all congruent with the constant dismissal and pushing people away. But the implication was crystal: Jay wanted him to stay, wanted him close for once.

“Of course,” he replied, slightly offended that his brother even had to ask, though he was fully aware of where the insecurity in the former ranger’s tone came from. He watched as the tentative hope in his brother’s face was replaced by relief and a hint of gratitude, the fleeting discomfiture gone. “I’ll be on the couch. Holler if you need anything.” With that he flipped of the light and left the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Equipped with a bedspread and a blanket from the hallway closet he transformed the couch into a makeshift bed, the throw pillows completing the picture. Only then did he become aware of the fact that he didn’t have a change of clothes with him. But he didn’t want to disturb his hopefully already sleeping brother just for the sake of having something comfy to sleep in. Discarding his tie as well as kicking off his shoes and dress pants would have to do. So, he did just that, then plopped down on the sofa and pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Natalie. She would be worried if he didn’t check in with her, he’d promised after all.

Later, when the lights were off and he was lying on his back under the covers, he reminisced about Jay’s question and the diffidence that had accompanied it. It admittedly had him stumped. He had never known Jay to be insecure, much rather he appeared to have a healthy amount of aplomb, coupled with a strong will and high moral standards that he never failed to advocate. He had adopted his strength and principles from their mother, but just like with her there was a tormented soul hidden beneath the surface never to be seen by anyone but Jay himself. Not even their mom had been privy to it all. To see the tough-guy façade slip, to see his brother so lost scared Will but strangely enough, it was also a concession on the brunette’s part.

Jay might have pushed him away the previous days, he might have told him to leave, when all he had wanted was for him to stay. The epiphany hit deep. Ten years ago, when their mother had taken her final breaths, Jay had asked, no, begged his brother to come home and be there for them, only for him to brush him off and hide behind the excuse of having to work. He’d come home for the funeral, but he’d left just a couple days later, dismissing him once more in the most unforgiving way. Instead of helping him, he had left his brother to deal with their father’s unhealthy coping methods on top of his own grief that was already preceded by the struggle of adapting to life at home after coming back from war. Will’s actions back then had imprinted themselves in his little brother’s mind, defining their relationship ever since and the doctor hated himself for putting the younger man through so much additional pain.

The damage had been done. He couldn’t turn back time, he would simply have to live with the guilt. But there was a sliver of hope. Jay, by asking him if he would stay, had offered the olive branch to mend something that had seemingly been broken beyond repair. Even if it hadn’t been vocalized in those exact words, he’d nonetheless expressed just how much he needed and more importantly wanted his big brother close. It would take some time and a lot of effort, but Will was inclined to put in the necessary work to make up for all the lost time and broken trust. He owed Jay as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of the first act of the story with the next installment concluding that first part. Stay tuned to find out what happens.
> 
> Thank you all for your love and support. I haven't had the best of weeks, but know that every kudo, every subscription and especially your kind and encouraging comments made the past few days that much more bearable. When things got too much, all it needed was reading your amazing reviews. So thank you!
> 
> Stay safe and healthy.


	8. My Heart is Spilling Over, Crashing to The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 2008, this is the final installment of the first act of this story. It's time to stir it up and throw a perspective into the mix that was blatantly absent up to this point. Any guesses on who it is? Well, you will find out soon enough. Words of advice: grab a family pack of tissues. You're going to need it. When I was writing this chapter I cried. A lot. Also, I'm actually kind of proud how this one turned out.
> 
> Because I'm heading into unpredictable work schedules for the next two weeks and am not sure when I'll be able to update next, I'm posting this earlier than I originally planned.
> 
> Caption for the chapter is from 'A Trick of Light' by Villagers.

Everyone has a unique, intimate way of dealing with loss.

Over the last decades many attempts have been made to find a consensus on how to group types of grief. To find a classification for something that can’t be generalized for there would be just as many categories as there are humans on earth, equaling to roughly seven billion. It was not only ridiculous to try and describe every single one of those; it was downright impossible. The many facets in which bereavement presented made one thing noticeably clear: there was no normal, no right and no wrong way of mourning. However, there were recurring themes that allowed for differentiation, and one of them stood out drastically as it distinguished itself form the others in one idiosyncratic feature.

There was this common belief that grief began only after the death of a beloved. When decease occurred in an unforeseen way, something or someone was taken away abruptly. Like a slap to the face or like an explosion. Yet this was a popular misconception for many losses. Most of them didn’t happen out of the blue; they came with a warning. Especially with factors like old age or degenerative disease the demise of a loved one was a well-known and unavoidable fact, their departure from this world abided. Defined as anticipatory grief, in those instances the process of mourning already started some time before the lurking grim reaper knocked on the door.

Some people thought that knowing what was going to happen made it easier to accept the looming fate. It offered them a chance to prepare for the time after their loved one’s passing, granted those left behind the opportunity to say their goodbyes. For some that was true. But for most it was much more complicated than that. This agonizing waiting game gave the bereaved too much time to ponder should-haves, could-haves and what-ifs in a rather unhealthy way. Nothing good ever came from overthinking and trying to concoct ways to circumvent or drag out the inevitable.

Patrick Halstead knew of the possibility of his wife’s premature death pretty much from the day their love blossomed. When he had met the fiery redhaired woman twenty-six years earlier she had just gone into remission from her first ugly affair with chronic lymphocytic leukemia. That in and of itself had been a marvel, considering that CLL was a type of cancer people rarely survived or recovered from and medicine was far from as advanced back in the nineteen-eighties. Nevertheless, she had beaten the odds and come out on top of it.

Their first encounter had been at a local pub one night. He had drunken an afterwork beer while she had played the fiddle in a traditional Irish live session. Both had been dealt a shitty hand in life. Yet she was everything he was not. Where she had been ready to celebrate and tackle life post-cancer, he had become grumpy and jaundiced due to his low social status. Born into a blue-collar family he had been forced to drop out of school in favor of contributing to the household budget with hard physical labor, something he had never wanted and that made him feel sorry for himself in his young years. However, he had been intrigued by Sadhbh’s jolly laughter, her boundless optimism and her brimming mirth from the moment he had laid eyes on her. Her contrasting outlook on life had him smitten. Meanwhile, she was charmed by his brooding mysterious persona. They say opposites attract and for them it was an accurate description of their blooming relationship and later their marriage.

Their antagonizing personalities translated all the way into how they dealt with the very real prospect of recrudescence. While Patrick was worried about it constantly, particularly in those early years of matrimony when their sons were still little, Sadhbh was extraordinarily blithe about it. They balanced themselves well, with her lifting his pessimistic thoughts and him mellowing her overt laxity. And as years had gone by, their sons having grown older and more independent, his fears had shrunken, almost vanished altogether when their oldest had been ready to leave the nest.

Almost. Because two months short of Will’s high school graduation Pat’s preexisting anxieties had been reawakened when Sadhbh had seemed unable to shake a persistent cold, lost weight at an alarming rate without any apparent reason and sweated severely throughout the night. She had also been extremely tired all the time, something so unusual for the spirited and energetic woman. Patrick had urged her to see a doctor, but she had always brushed him off, told him he was making a fuss about nothing. But when she had noticed the swollen lymph nodes one night, even Sadhbh’s irrepressible optimism was jolted and she agreed to some scans. She had called it a routine check-up still, ever strong and positive. Alas, her visit confirmed the one thing, neither of them had ever wanted to be confronted with: the leukemia was back. And this time it was there to stay.

From the very day of her diagnosis, Halstead senior shut himself off. He refused to think about what a potential life without his beloved wife would entail. Unable to face the grave reality, Patrick went on with his routines in almost the same way as before. The only changes were the longer work hours to balance out her medical bills as well as his more frequent bar visits. Denial ended up being his way of grieving.

Six years went by; the likelihood of her not being the victor this time morphed into absolute certainty one day in July. Severe abdominal pain had forced her to go to the hospital and when she had called him after long hours filled with tests and screenings she had disclosed to him that the cancer had reached a terminal stage and she might not come home from the hospital. But not even then had Patrick allowed himself to cry out his anguish. Instead of visiting her, instead of sitting by her side and holding her hand every day, he detached himself from the situation. He worked even more relentlessly, let ten to twelve hours of strenuous construction work tire him out enough to numb his mind. And when the job was done for the day, he headed to Kelly’s Tavern. Drowned out the rest of the impending thoughts with beer after beer and the occasional whisky or vodka thrown into the mix. He fell into bed every night buzzed, in a drunken haze, sometimes stone-cold blacked out, where he slept dreamlessly until his alarm woke him up early the following morning for a repeat of the previous day.

Over the last two months this had turned into his new modus operandi. He slowly adapted to his miserable life consisting of nothing more than work and liquor. And with every passing day, with every passing week it became just a fraction easier. Easier to pretend that he wasn’t grieving. Easier to pretend that he didn’t have two sons roaming around somewhere in the world. Easier to pretend that the love of his life wasn’t waiting desperately for his appearance in her final days. Classic avoidance.

But even pretending all that, pretending the last twenty-six years had merely been a wonderful dream that he just woken up from, his memories always reminded him that this was in fact not just a figment of his mind. A joyfully laughing young Sadhbh dragging him onto the dancefloor the day they met. Seeing the sparkle in both his boy’s eyes when he taught them to pitch a ball and feeling the pride when both turned out to be naturals. And the most powerful of them all: coming home after a long day to his buoyant wife in her gravy and applesauce speckled apron and his playfully bickering sons setting the dinner table – a perfect happy family. The picture always filled him with warmth and contentment, but at the same time it reminded him of the excruciating reality that by corking himself up he had lost it all; his son’s to adulthood and his wife to the cruelling cancer.

What a clusterfuck his life had become.

It all came crashing down when he pulled a stack of envelopes from the mailbox one morning early in October. Forwarded to his youngest from Fort Benning, Georgia, they were varying in size, shape and color. Only one of them was the familiar looking monthly paycheck from the Army, the only mail Jay explicitly permitted him to open for the sole purpose of making a dent in Sadhbh’s piling medical bills. His son rarely got any other mail to the house, unsurprisingly considering he had hardly been home ever since he enlisted.

Jay was back in Chicago though, had been for a couple months now, ever since he had been informed about the gravity of his mother’s condition. Patrick had known about his return ever since the army ranger had flown in. It had been one of those few days on which he was too tired to go to his regular hangout and chose to spend his time in front of the television in the oppressing confines of his living room instead. His son had stumbled in that night, looking like death had warmed over. He hadn’t even stopped for a greeting, just ascended the stairs to his childhood bedroom, nearly faceplanting in the process, to grab whatever essentials he thought he needed to spend an indefinite amount of time at Mercy Hospital. When he had come down less than five minutes later, he had almost collapsed under the weight of his army duffle bag.

His youngest had addressed him then, confused that his father hadn’t moved from his spot to get dressed and ready to head out with him. Patrick had remained slouched in the caramel armchair in the little alcove of the parlor and glued to the ancient tube TV, watching whatever game had been on that night. His stoicism had ended in a brief shouting match – well, mostly him shouting and the younger man croaking in painful hoarseness – until Jay’s voice had left him completely and he anticlimactically wobbled out the door, not to be seen in the Halstead residence since.

That had been close to eight weeks ago, not that Pat was counting. And just like Jay had not come back to the tiny two-story house in Canaryville, he himself still hadn’t visited the hospital that was housing his wife and presumably his son too. The constellation painfully reminded him of the nature of his marriage as well as the family dynamics.

Sadhbh had always been the strong one and Jay had stepped right into her footsteps. Even fatally sick she had put on a brave face. For him and for their sons, more so the youngest because he was ultimately the one who had borne witness to the cancer ravaging her body daily in those first two years, had seen her on her better days but also her worst. Even six years ago, she had known that Patrick would be too consumed with his own sorrow of having to watch her decaying body and therefore wouldn’t be capable of consoling and reassuring the resilient yet vulnerable soul that was the baby of their family. And still, the nestling was the one there with her right now, watching as she slowly succumbed to the merciless disease. Putting on a brave face as he stayed strong for her in return.

It pained him to see so much of his wife’s personality in Jay. It was probably the reason why he had been pushing his son away so much ever since he had learned of her relapse. Not that he’d had the best relationship with his youngest before that. They had butted heads on a regular basis for years, but the rift had torn open even wider after his wife’s diagnosis. Patrick knew how much it had saddened Sadhbh, though not once had she judged him for his inability to connect with Jay and be outwardly empathetic towards him. She had always expressed her understanding, had let it slide when her husband verbally attacked the back then teenager with offhanded and condescending comments. She had always known that no matter how strict and unfair he was being with their son Patrick still loved Jay in his own way. He just couldn’t articulate his affection. He was forever grateful for her many attempts to play referee in the rocky father-son relationship.

Those days were over though. Sadhbh wasn’t here, she was in the hospital and she could no longer take the baton for him any longer. He couldn’t sleaze out of his responsibilities, parental or otherwise, anymore. With the envelopes mocking him, he knew he had to bite the bullet, drive his self-proclaimed lazy ass of a coward over to Mercy and at least hand Jay the urgent looking mail, even though it meant facing his dying wife in the process. It took a lot out of him, but he owed them at least that much.

Ultimately, it was because of the guilt of leaving them to fend for themselves for so long that he found himself pacing the floor of the oncology ward, steadily wearing a hole in the linoleum on October 6. His anxious patrolling as he tried to gather the courage to enter the lampooning hospital room went on for close to half an hour. Hands ran through previously disheveled scalp and facial hair occasionally, neither of which had seen a hairdresser or groomer in quite some time, making it look progressively more askew due to the clamminess of his palms. He worked himself up ever more with every passing second, questioning and doubting what for and why he was here in the first place.

Instead of building up bravery, Patrick was ready to admit his recreance, turn on his heels and leave the letters on the nurse’s front desk like the chicken he was. Just as his decision was made, the door to his wife’s room opened and revealed a lanky yet toned young man he had never seen before. “Can I help you, Sir? You’ve been out here for…” He was stunned into silence as he fully took in the older man’s features. There was an undeniable familiarity there. “…a while,” he finished, dumbstruck. “You’re Mr. Halstead.” The last part was clearly a statement, but the tone in which his name was spoken demanded a verbal confirmation.

“Yes.” Pat’s answer was short and gruff as he stopped right in front of the young man and squared his shoulders. He gave his opponent a onceover, taking in the clean-shaven angular jaw and dimpled cheeks, the short brown hair and large cerulean eyes. The milk face – because that’s what he looked like to him – was about the same age as Jay, give or take a year. No doctor then, an orderly maybe, though his stance while relaxed screamed military, as did his camouflaged cargos and boots. Despite the obvious clues, Halstead senior didn’t connect the dots. Instead he mulled over the fact that a total stranger knew who he was. “How do you know my name?” he growled, wary of the babyface in front of him. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my wife’s room?” His voice rose with every question. Once those were out of his system, he was about to launch himself at the man.

Unperturbed by the impulsive outburst, the other straightened to his full five foot nine and steeled himself, ready to ward off any attempted attack. Intimidated by the combative posture and the flexing muscles under the young man’s ochre button-up, Patrick halted his assault. “My apologies for not introducing myself properly, sir,” the words were spoken calmly, not at all reflecting the daunting pose. “Greg Gerwitz. Army Specialist, third Battalion, seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment. I serve with your son Jay,” he listed. Some of the physical signs of rage left Mr. Halstead and Mouse relaxed, leaned against the doorframe with one shoulder, arms loosely crossed in front of his chest.

The older man grunted and flared his nostrils as he eyed him with a sneer. “Yeah? So where is that lazy bastard?” He glanced into the room, going no further than the threshold, and found it empty bar the hospital bed where his wife was presumably hidden beneath the mountain of blankets and pillows. There was a bare minimum of medical equipment at its head – a heart monitor and an intravenous drip – testament to the terminal stage of her cancer. Patrick noticed the cot in the far corner with immaculately folded bedsheets as well as the two chairs facing a small side table, an opened notebook perched on top. “I knew the little shit would be too spineless to stay for long,” he mumbled under his breath, suddenly angry.

Mouse pursed his lips and bit his tongue at the derogatory remark. That coupled with what his friend had let slip about his complicated relationship with his old man, Greg felt a strong dislike for the man already. He wanted to give him a piece of his mind, a barbed comment already on the tip of his tongue, but for Jay’s sake he reined himself in. Though he couldn’t help the sarcasm from creeping into his response. “If by ‘lazy bastard’ and ‘little shit’ you mean Sergeant Jay Halstead,” Mouse put a lot more emphasis on his friend’s rank than was probably necessary, and when Patrick’s eyes widened a fraction in shock, the ranger felt smug. “He has physical therapy right now.”

Pat glared at him incredulously as he worked past his surprise at the revelation. His son was barely of legal drinking age. Surely, he couldn’t be sergeant that young? Looking down at the envelopes in his hands, his mind wandered back to a few months ago. Sometime around the turn of the year he and Sadhbh had been in financial distress. Construction work had stagnated over the winter and treatment costs had steadily grown as doctors had tried alternative regimens to combat the cancer. But then, out of the blue, it had gotten easier to balance medical bills. He hadn’t thought about it much, had never taken a closer look at his son’s paychecks, merely cashed them in. Jay had never mentioned a promotion – not that he would know; he hadn’t exactly made any effort to talk to him in the last years – but he should have realized that his son’s salary might have played a part in the fact that they weren’t threatened by bankruptcy any longer. Patrick never made the connection. What did that say about him as a father?

Oblivious to the thoughts running through the old man’s head, Mouse decided not to push his luck, even though he wanted to say more. He didn’t want to get his comrade into trouble. “He should be back in,” Gerwitz read the time off his watch, “thirty-seven minutes. Thirty-eight tops if the elevator is clogged again. Do you want to wait for him?” he offered instead, only belatedly wondering how Jay would react to finding his father next to his mother’s hospital bed upon his return. Turned out, he wouldn’t have to worry about that though.

Mr. Halstead grunted in reply. Yes, he had come here with the intention of bringing Jay his mail and this unavoidably came with having to face his son. But now, with his youngest not in the vicinity, he was surreptitiously relieved with the opportunity to weasel himself out of his responsibility. If he stayed, there would be a confrontation for sure and Patrick had to admit to himself that he was too chicken to listen to anything his son had to say to him. Whatever words Jay would throw at him, the older Halstead already knew they would be true and well deserved. Never one to acknowledge his own faults, he eventually shook his head. “No.” If he didn’t have to deal with this, he was more than happy to return to his usual ways: denial and avoidance.

Whilst not unexpected, Greg felt the punch in the gut on his brother in arm’s behalf. How disheartening it was to have the parent that was alive and well distant and indifferent whereas the loving and caring one was dying. Gerwitz’ heart clenched as he thought that by losing his mother, Jay would basically end up orphaned because it didn’t look like his father would be there to support him. Mouse lowered and shook his head, saddened by the grave outlook. Ready to retreat to the room and leave the older man where he was, he muttered, “have a good da-…”

He didn’t come any further for he was interrupted by Patrick. “How’s he doing?” His brain had caught up with the rest of Greg’s earlier words. His son was in physical therapy. The bruised and battered state his youngest had been in when he had last seen him all those weeks ago came to mind. The way he had barely been able to walk much less climb the stairs, the paleness that resembled the one he had gotten used to seeing in his ill wife, the sling, the splint. Jay had clearly been injured and Pat hadn’t even given it any thought, too absorbed in his own misery. The fact that his son was apparently still on the mend brought a wave of concern for the younger man’s wellbeing, enough so that he found the courage to ask about it.

Mouse froze, stunned by the unforeseen inquiry. “As well as expected,” he answered curtly, somewhat irritated. He arched a brow and tried to read Halstead senior, noticing for the first time the lines of sadness and exhaustion around his eyes as well as the worried creases on his forehead. The blue-green irises were dull and bloodshot. Greg wanted to hate the old man, wanted to tell him what a poor excuse of a husband and father he was and that he didn’t deserve the wife and son he had. But it was those eyes, the same anguished pale Maui blue as Jay’s, that wiped the anger away. In this moment he felt nothing but pity for him. Patrick looked like a wreck. The soldier wouldn’t kick him when he was already beaten down. Besides, regardless of his absence and how much of an ass he was, it was also blatantly obvious that the man cared about both his wife and son.

Heaving a sigh, Gerwitz dropped his arms to his side and pushed them into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Could be better, I guess. He’s hanging in there and finally taking care of himself.” Patrick frowned in confusion, silently demanding a lengthier explanation, so Mouse elaborated, “Jay’s barely been out of the hospital himself before he got here. Neglected his injuries for a bit because he didn’t want to leave her side.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bed. “Took some persuasion to get him the seek the medical care he needed. Only way to do that was to ensure someone stays with her when he can’t be here.”

“You’re babysitting then,” Patrick surmised bluntly. “Weird way to spend your leave. Watching someone die whom you don’t even know.” The words came out harsher than he intended them to. However, if Mouse was offended, he didn’t show it. Not that Mr. Halstead would have apologized if he were. He thought it odd that someone would want to spend his free time with a stranger. A dying one at that.

“Just fulfilling my vows,” Greg replied quietly. It was more than just living up to the code of conduct from the military. More than just the oath he’d taken, serve and protect and never leave any man or woman behind. It was loyalty to his best friend just as much if not more so than it was the devotion to his commanding officer. But there was no point in trying to explain all that to the older man. He doubted Halstead senior would understand or care much about it anyway. “So, I see you brought mail,” he steered the topic away from himself. “Jay’s?” he queried as he pushed off the wall and casually strolled into the hospital room. When Patrick didn’t follow, he added, “you should get in here. Sadhbh gets the shivers when the door is open for too long.”

“Sadhbh?” The milk face was on first name basis with his wife? Skepticism welled up in Mr. Halstead once more. Mouse merely raised his brows at him warningly and urged the older man to enter with an impatient wave of the hand. Still teetering on his feet, Patrick’s arms and legs twitched as his body and mind battled over whether he should step over the invisible barrier or not. He closed his eyes momentarily, then crossed the threshold with a sharp intake of air. His hand clutched the envelopes tighter when his gaze landed on the bundle of blankets. He still couldn’t see his wife beneath them, but the frequent rise and fall of the drapes indicated that a living and breathing being indeed inhabited the bed.

Despite the strong grip on them, the letters started to slip from his sweaty fingers, yanking him back to the conversation. “Uh yeah,” he cawed and hastily put the stack on the edge of the table. “Jay rarely gets mail. It’s usually just paychecks,” he explained lamely. He felt nervous to be in the same room as his wife and this intimidating young man. “Those clearly aren’t,” he tallied. “Seemed important.”

Greg stared at the harried man a bit longer, then allowed his eyes to fall onto the pile, noticing the familiar army emblem on them. He nodded knowingly. “They are. Jay expected them, would have come over to pick them up later in the week. He couldn’t have them sent to the hospital.” He supported his hip against the edge of the desk and traced the edge of the envelopes with his index finger. He itched to get a closer look but didn’t want Halstead senior grow even more suspicious of him. For all the older man knew, he was merely his son’s comrade, not his best friend. He retracted his hand and scratched the back of his neck.

“There’s one from the VA,” Jay’s father mentioned with a bizarre tone at the end that Gerwitz couldn’t quite place. “Far as I know the Army binds for eight years, so not sure what their business with Jay is.” Greg’s left eye twitched, the chagrin in Patrick’s voice not going by him. He studied him, trying to figure out what it meant. Was it curiosity? Concern? Disappointment? Something else entirely? For all Mouse knew the older man could just be fishing for ammunition to use against his estranged son later. He surely wouldn’t give him that. “No idea,” he replied vaguely. He didn’t want to accidently blurt anything out that might cause unnecessary tension between father and son, especially not if Patrick’s intentions were ambiguous. “Thanks for bringing them.” Mouse tapped the envelopes with two fingers.

“Welcome,” Patrick muttered gruffly. Expecting the man to leave the room right after, Greg was surprised when Mr. Halstead hesitated. He wondered briefly if the other man was expecting more gratitude for going out of his way to drop his son’s mail off. He was just about to ask the man if he wanted anything else, but he recognized the signs of anxiety: the minute glances towards the hospital bed, the slight tremor in his hands, the too-fast breathing. Mouse watched him closely as the older Halstead struggled to retain his composure while simultaneously approaching the bedside. Patrick’s resolve crumbed the instant he caught a glimpse of his dying wife for the first time in months, and he would’ve dropped to his knees if it wasn’t for the white-knuckled hold on the railing.

It was a heartbreaking sight, one that reminded Greg of the day of his arrival when Jay had broken down in a similar manner. And just like all those weeks ago, Gerwitz found himself pushing a chair towards the anguished man for him to sit on. Other than the last time though it remained untouched. Patrick reached for the frail hand of his sleeping wife and brought it to his lips, blowing a gentle kiss onto the translucent skin. His other limb loosened its tight hold on the bed and brushed over the inch of ginger fuzz at the hairline. Sadhbh stirred slightly, and when Patrick bent down to kiss her pale forehead she seemed to melt into the familiar chapped lips and scruffy beard of her husband. She didn’t show signs of waking up otherwise.

Mouse wasn’t surprised by her deep sleep. Her morphine dose had been upped a few days ago and the latest round had been an hour ago. It was for the best; the opioids did their magic and at least allowed her to rest peacefully. Over the past week Sadhbh’s health had progressively deteriorated. She was in a constant state of pain when she was awake and increasingly distressed even in her sleep. Greg felt helpless watching over her during those episodes, assumed Jay felt at least a hundred times worse, and while he knew that Mrs. Halstead usually calmed down from the gentle touch and soothing whispers of her son, it felt wrong to Mouse for him to do the same. She wasn’t his mother after all, she was Jay’s.

And yet, he was shocked to see the same tranquil effect, the remaining lines of pain on Sadhbh’s chalky face smoothed out by the intimate notion executed by her husband. Despite the strong analgesics, it was evident she knew Patrick was here.

“You know,” the trembling voice of Halstead senior pulled Mouse from his thoughts. “Sadhbh, she’s the strongest person I know.” His breath hitched at the end, thick with emotion. The man swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Jay, he… he’s a fighter, just like her.” He shook his head in denial. “I’m not. I can’t… I can’t bear to see her like this. I just can’t take it.” A wet sob escaped his mouth, and Greg’s heart clenched at the painful sound. It was gut-wrenching to watch as Patrick’s head dropped onto his wife’s chest to seek comfort Sadhbh couldn’t give him anymore. There was another soggy whimper and a whispered ‘goodbye’ into the crook of her neck. When the man lifted his chin and looked at him, there was a faint trail of tears on his cheeks. He sniffled once. “Tell them I’m sorry,” he pleaded, and Mouse found himself nodding mutely.

It was all the assurance Mr. Halstead needed. With one last gentle kiss onto his wife’s thumb he laid her hand back on the blankets with care, then spun around and left rather hastily, not once looking back. Gerwitz was stunned into motionlessness as he tried to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had seen a side of the man that never in a million years he had considered possible. Not after everything he knew about him. A side that Jay might never have been privy to.

With that thought in mind, Greg sat down in the chair next to the bed, stale acrimony mixing with bittersweet melancholy as he waited for his brother in arms. Unbeknownst to him, those feelings would be superseded by another much more intense emotion in the imminent future.

*

Jay drummed the fingers of his right hand nervously against the metal railing of the elevator as he rode up to the oncology floor, the toes of his right foot tapping along to the frantic rhythm in the confines of his sneaker. He blew out an impatient breath and stared at the ceiling. The ride was unbearably slow. What usually took less than a minute felt like an hour today. The car was packed: people wanted to get on or off on every level between the first floor where the rehab center was located and the sixth which was harboring his mother. It was Murphy’s Law in its element. Or maybe it was just this ridiculous issue with perception of time playing tricks on him again. Maybe it was a combination of both or maybe the two interlocked. Either way, he felt exceedingly antsy to get back to his mom but one supernatural force or other seemed dead set on delaying his arrival.

Late last night or rather incredibly early that morning Halstead had gotten this weird sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen. Throughout the previous week his mother had experienced these excruciating pain spikes where not even the maxed-out doses of morphine could scratch the surface any longer. The ranger had spent every second that wasn’t filled with his own annoying doctor’s appointments and physical therapy sessions holding her hand. He had become her lifeline as she had squeezed his limb crushingly tight to transfer some of her agony onto him, the hand-shaped bruises and the tingling numbness a sad reminder of just how much pain she was in. He forewent meals and sleep, was literally running on empty by now. The physical and mental stress of it all was beyond exhausting and Jay, while devoted to her, didn’t know how much longer he could live on stale, moldy vending machine coffee.

Things had been different this morning. His mom, for the first time in over a week, had slept peacefully through the night except for a waking moment at the crack of dawn. She had been strangely lucid, had spoken to her son in shocking clarity. He’d been relieved at first as was his right hand turned stress ball. But the reprieve had been short-lived and quickly replaced with a premonition that today would be the day he had dreaded for the last couple months. The air of phony contentment had only reinforced that feeling.

As a result, he’d been tempted to reschedule his therapy session, reluctant to leave his mom alone should his fear prove itself true. Mouse had persuaded him, or more like threatened him with Dr. Oakes, so Jay had eventually given in and trekked down to the first floor. But his mind hadn’t been in it, his exercises performed carelessly and sluggishly as he failed to follow the simplest of instructions. Halstead wasn’t an easy patient to deal with on the best of days, but today had been beyond frustrating for Nico, his physical therapist. Which was why the man had let him off a few minutes early, though those were undeniably lost in the long ride up.

The ding of the elevator announced its arrival on the sixth floor, effectively stopping the frenzied beat of his fingers. Jay stepped off the car and limped down the hall at an impressively fast pace considering his still healing injuries. His heart thumped faster in his chest the closer he got to his mother’s hospital room, and when the door came into view, he immediately wished he hadn’t listened to Greg earlier and canceled his appointment instead. The entrance was invaded by a flurry of hospital staff, doctors and nurses rushing in and out of the room. The ranger’s trepidation skyrocketed as he took in the commotion from a distance. He hurried his steps even more, ignoring the pull on his already aching muscles, his ailments completely forgotten.

Nearing the doorway, he searched for Mouse amongst the cluster of people, blocking out the yelled orders from the medical personnel. He caught a glimpse of his friend at the far wall, the back of Gerwitz’ knees pressed against the metal framing of the cot, trying to stay out of the way of the professionals doing their thing, gaze glued to the hospital bed. Jay halted his sprint on the threshold and as if sensing his presence, Greg turned his head on cue. Their eyes locked, the look in his comrade’s cerulean orbs full of deepest sympathy and compassion. They were the young ranger’s undoing. He leapt the remaining steps into the room, pushing past the whitecoats and nurses in their indigo scrubs until he reached his mother’s bedside.

It was in that moment that his brain caught up with his hearing. The reassuring periodic beeping of the heart monitor which Jay had grown accustomed to over the past two months was missing. Replaced by a horrible screeching sound, resembling the wail of a banshee. It was so shrill and bloodcurdling that he expected his eardrums to burst any second. For a moment, Halstead couldn’t put a meaning to the persistent squeal, his mind unable to process. But when he took in the bluish-grey tint to his mother’s skin and noticed that her chest wasn’t rising and falling anymore it all clicked, confirmed an instant later by one of the doctors.

“Time of death: fifteen eleven.”

Five words. Five simple words, each one them so innocent and meaningless by themselves, yet so powerful in combination. Jay slumped forward, landing halfway across the bed, and cradled his mother’s hand into his. “Mom?” he asked, not quite believing the words of the physician, his voice small and insecure. “Ma!” Louder, more vehement this time. He shook her shoulder as if he wanted to wake her from a deep slumber, but there was no reaction, no answer. The ranger shook his head rapidly as his face twisted into a distraught expression. “No, no,” he mumbled brokenly. “Come back, ma. Don’t go, please don’t go.” He grabbed her shoulders in a tight hold, the fabric of her gown clutched in his fists. He laid his head on her chest. “Please don’t leave me. Mom, please…” He sobbed into her chest, rivers of white-hot tears ran down his face, causing wet stains on the sheets. “No…”

He stayed like that, hunched over her body. Muscles protested the uncomfortable position, but he didn’t feel any pain from his injuries any longer. The physical discomfort was overwritten by the anguish of losing the one person that meant more to him than anyone else in the world, whom he knew had always loved him unconditionally no matter what. At some point his knees couldn’t hold his weight any longer and he crumbled, his hands slipping from their hold on his mother’s lifeless form. He barely registered the searing sensation spreading through his left extremity at being bent and stretched oddly as he landed in a heap on the floor.

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and Greg’s spoke into his right ear benevolently. “I’m so sorry. So, so terribly sorry.” He didn’t want to hear it. Jay tried to wriggle out of the hold, tried to get his limbs under him but his legs felt like lead, the exhaustion of the last week and the reality of now hitting him full force. “Shh, it’s going to be okay, Jay. It’s all going to be okay.” Jay shook his head in denial and weakly pushed against Mouse once more. Nothing was going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again. But Greg fully engulfed him at this point, effectively stilling his flailing arms. He stopped struggling, accepted the palm running up and down his spine in soothing circles and let the soft baritone murmurs of his friend wash over him. “Shh, I got you, Jay. Just let it out. I got you.”

And so, he did. The cries started as whimpers but soon turned into sobs racking his whole body. He screamed and wailed until he lost his voice, wept until there were no more tears left. Jay was so out of it that he didn’t even realize as Greg moved them from the cold linoleum floor onto the cot, his friend not once letting go of the tight embrace, all the while holding him and rocking him gently. Through it all, the tormented man wished nothing more than for the arms to belong to his mom, and for him to melt into her heartwarming motherly bear hug just one more time. But it would never happen again. His mom was gone, and she was never coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to explain my portrayal of Papa Halstead here. I know he's not exactly a likable character on the shows and I don't much like him either. That said, people aren't either good or bad. Between all the black and white that we want to see in people is a whole lot of grey. So, I want to convey that with Pat Halstead as well, hence the lengthy dive into his thoughts and reasons. If I managed to persuade just one of you that he has some good in him, I've accomplished what I wanted to accomplish.
> 
> Alright, that's a wrap on the first act. With the next chapter we will venture into act two, where we pick up shortly after this one. Stay tuned.
> 
> Reported cases of Covid are increasing daily all over the world, so as a nurse I really can't stress this enough: please wear masks and keep social distancing. Stay safe and healthy. Thank you!


	9. And Nothing, Nothing Is as It Used to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of the worst feeling he had ever experienced: to be dismissed and forgotten about by his own flesh and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into part two of the story. This is set in 2008, shortly after where I left it off in the last chapter. Purely narrative and fairly short, it's a hommage to the prologue. This will read familiar, which is purely intentional. When I procured the idea for the story, I had this déjà vu like situation in mind and I wanted to reflect it in my writing. I hope it works out okay.
> 
> I'm only posting this already, because it is so short. Next chapters are already written but will take longer for me to revise since I don't have the time to do so in the next week or so.
> 
> Title is from 'Whoever You Are' by L'aupaire.

They buried Sadhbh Halstead on October 13, 2008.

A funeral reception was held in McInerney’s Central Chapel. McInerney’s not only provided its service in a most respectful and sensible way to grieving families, it was also affordable. Money was a deciding factor when it came to choosing a suitable funeral home for Sadhbh. With a truckload of medical bills accumulating over the years, money was tight for the Halsteads. A lack of orders during the long Chicago winter months had put them in a tough spot long before Sadhbh had fallen ill; the extra work her husband had picked up in addition to his full-time construction job once the first claim had fluttered in hadn’t even begun to cover their expenses. It hadn’t helped that the oldest son had moved to New York and worked himself through med school there either. And while the youngest had contributed as much as he could with barista and delivery jobs throughout high school and by sending his paychecks from the Army Rangers later, it still hadn’t been enough to make ends meet.

The Halsteads had been in financial straits for a long time and the funeral costs put yet another dent in their pockets. McInerney’s might have been affordable, but it wasn’t within their means. It was, however, acceptable enough not to burden the ever-growing debts beyond acquittance.

Jay couldn’t be bothered with the reasons why his father had selected this place. Payment plans had been the least of his sorrows as he had sat there on the eighth, next to his old man who seemed worried exclusively about the monetary issues. If the younger man had been rational, he might have understood why Patrick was so parsimonious: winter was impending, therefore orders would be sparse. But having just lost his mother to cancer, Jay was anything but reasonable. So, when Halstead senior had rejected yet another proposal, the junior had lost his cool and showered him with rather colorful expletives. It had resulted in the old man leaving, but he had made a point of letting him know that not a cent could be expected from him if Jay chose arrangements which he hadn’t agreed to.

From there on out, the ranger had been on his own to discuss service options with the funeral director; his older brother Will still in the unknown about Sadhbh’s demise since he didn’t answer his phone. As he had picked out material and shape of the urn, floral decorations and the color scheme for the wreaths and ribbons he didn’t care about what his father thought. His mother deserved a venerable memorial, not a half-assed burial because money was tight. She hadn’t asked for any of this. Thus, for him there was only one option: he’d pay from his own pocket if he had to even if it put him in debt.

When he realized that not only had his father left him to deal with the funeral arrangements but also refused to contact the people who would want to come to the reception in favor of hiding away in Kelly’s Tavern, Jay had felt the stress increase tenfold. Mouse offered his assistance, but the young man declined, arguing that this was something he needed to do alone, that people would want to hear from a Halstead and not a random family friend that they didn’t know. It made sense to Greg, so he merely hovered at a close distance and drove by the house twice a day to make sure the young sergeant ate. “Don’t hesitate to call me. Day and night. I’m here,” he urged by way of goodbye after every visit. Jay expressed his gratitude every time, but he never called his comrade.

Working through the list of friends and acquaintances of his late mother took up most of the ninth and tenth. The list had been long. Sadhbh had amassed a large circle of people over the years: her coworkers from working in the library, students from mentoring programs as well as teaching sean-nôs dancing and the fiddle at the youth center, also a bunch of people she had encountered through her volunteer work at the local food bank and various social commitments. The vast amount of people was astonishing but not at all surprising to Jay; Sadhbh had been sociable and well-liked by everyone she met, her kind and loving nature something that made them trust her instinctively.

Amidst contacting what felt like hundreds of people, the youngest Halstead stopped every other hour to try and get his older brother on the line but was forwarded after the fifth ring every time. That was until late on the ninth, three days after their mother’s passing, Will finally picked up his phone. Their conversation had been brief, matter of fact and highly reserved on Will’s part which had disheartened Jay more than he would admit. Nevertheless, his brother booked a flight for the twelfth as soon as he heard his brother’s strangled ‘mom died’ and flown in from New York. A huge weight was lifted off his chest and a glimmer of buoyancy ignited that maybe, with Will by his side the loss of their mom would be a tad more bearable.

His hopes abated on the day of his brother’s arrival only to vanish altogether later throughout the ceremony. Will’s demeanor was reticent. Bar a single lopsided hug at the airport physical contact between the siblings was basically nonexistent and witnessing the more affectionate full-on embrace between him and their old man made his blood run cold. Jay grew numb after that, unable to even feel so much as jealously. There was only bone-deep weariness and all-encompassing sadness left as he ached for nothing more than for his mom to take him in her arms and comfort him.

Emptiness and feelings of abandonment hit their peak on the day of the reception.

Patrick Halstead had always found a way of victimizing himself, be it on the job, with his buddies or at home. This time was no different. During the ceremony he managed to mooch a surfeit of consolations and pities off pretty much all the funeral’s attendees. Jay wasn’t even surprised when the old man shamelessly adorned himself with borrowed feathers. “Lilies and sunflowers were always Sadhbh’s favorites,” was a line recited to everyone who asked and those who didn’t ask as well. And just as well rehearsed, “the color reminds me of my wife’s once beautiful ginger hair,” when inquiries in the choice of a mahogany urn was made. Jay wanted to gag when he heard the fake thickness in his dad’s voice and the ease with which the old man lied in their faces, pretended that he’d put thought into any of this. To some extent, he expected it from his father, but it hurt no less.

Will was smoother, more sophisticated. Having always been a charmer and sycophant seven years of academic education highlighted the trait even more. Throughout their childhood it had gotten him the sought-after attention and Jay used to envy him for his skill to sweet-talk everyone. Now, on the day of their mother’s funeral he felt immensely disgusted by it. He watched as the young doctor-to-be wrapped the guests around his fingers. As he preened himself on the beauty of the ceremony, the chosen ornaments as if he had pitched in on their selections in a similar albeit much more classy way than Patrick. Jay hadn’t anticipated it, not from Will. But his older brother, with his neat tux and flawlessly coiffured hair somehow ended up rubbing him the wrong way through all of it. So much more so than his father ever could.

Shocked and incensed as he was, Jay swallowed his pride. Watched as people came up to the Halstead trio one by one and offered their commiserations. Bit down hard on the insides of his cheeks when they praised only the two older family members for the excellent decorations. Jay didn’t care about the attention. In fact, he couldn’t care less that people didn’t give him any credit for the arrangements. He could have said something, could have corrected them if he really wanted to, he just didn’t see a reason for it. What did it matter anyway? For him, it was enough to know that people considered the cream and lime theme presenting throughout the flourishes lovely, thoughtful and oh so very fitting for his mom’s high-spirited and kind-hearted personality regardless of who got the recognition for them. He himself knew it had been his choices. Knowing that he seemed to have picked the right one’s filled him with a sense of calm.

No, lack of faith in him and his decision making wasn’t what infuriated him to no end. It was both his father and his brother for having the audacity to stand there and make-believe that they knew how hard the last couple months had been, though neither of them had been there. Neither of them had held her hand – a hand so fragile that it might snap if one squeezed too tight – while having theirs crushed in a death grip through episodes of unimaginable pain. Neither of them had seen her get thinner with every passing day, so wafer-thin that she was basically swallowed by the mountainous pillows and blankets. Neither had seen her so anemic that she barely even stood out from the white hospital sheets anymore. And neither of them had heard the nonsensical drug-induced hallucinations, with the occasional coherent words thrown into the mix. Words of consolation that she accepted her impending faith, that she was ready for what came next and that he should be too. Also, prayers that her three men would be there for one another, would find a way to help one another through the grief once she was gone.

Jay wanted to tell them. He wanted to yell and scream at Patrick and Will, wanted them to know what it had been like, wanted them to feel the way he felt, wanted to beg them to at least grant her last wish and be a family again. But he did none of that. Instead of giving in to his ever-growing resentment and excruciating anguish, he pushed it all down and remained quiet. The only sound from his mouth were the whispered thankyous alongside fake close-lipped smiles when a rare guest remembered that there was a third grieving Halstead right there, standing one foot behind and two off to the side of his father and brother.

It was heart-shattering for the youngest that they didn’t think about taking him in their midst. That he seemed irrelevant, almost invisible to them. Aside from the deep heartache of losing his mom it was one of if not the worst feeling he had ever experienced: to be dismissed and forgotten about by his own flesh and blood. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t allow himself to crumple, wouldn’t allow the façade to slip. Not in front of so many people, even if he was just as unseen by them as he was his own relatives. So, he gulped down the constant onslaught of tears instead, not a lone one granted to slip passed the imaginary barrier. He was too tired, too physically drained and mentally exhausted beyond imagination. And as he stood there watching Patrick and Will side by side, their shoulders brushing the entire time and an occasional reassuring pat on the back exchanged between them, Jay couldn’t help but feel utterly and miserably alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still enjoying the story.  
> Thank you all for reading.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy.


	10. Don't Stray Away, For I Know You'll Turn and Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t want Will to push, didn’t want him to dig deeper into those pits, because he knew some of the truths to be harsh and unforgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 2018, this chapter takes place a day after Pat's funeral reception. There's a lot of introspection on Will's part, but also a bit of brotherly interaction. This installment is more of a filler chapter, nothing special and I'm not entirely happy with it. Maybe you enjoy this anyway; I know some of you were looking forward to a Halstead brother chapter.
> 
> Caption is taken from the unintentionally fitting song "Brothers" by First Aid Kit.

The human body operated on an internal biological clock.

Sitting in the hypothalamus of the brain, a cluster of proteins known as the suprachiasmatic nucleus was responsible for regulating wakefulness and sleep. If left to its natural course this timer allowed a person to listen to and live by a twenty-four-hour cycle without the aid of an alarm. This circadian rhythm was set by signals of daylight and darkness; luminous stimulus tickling the bundle of thousands of cells and translating this data for various laymen parts of the brain. It essentially kicked the necessary biochemical reactions into motion. People grew tired as the pineal gland busied itself with the production of melatonin. Meanwhile, arousal centers tuned it down a notch. Reversely with the crack of dawn, the thalamus and midbrain, which mostly remained quiet during the night, reactivated themselves and brought people to a wakeful state. A recurring pattern if left to its innate concept.

However, external circumstances had the power to disrupt the biological clock and cause an imbalance between the phases of slumber and vigilance. Lack of physical activity or fresh air throughout the day or being exposed to artificial light sources from working inside or generally spending too much time in front of novel technology were common factors tampering with a person’s wake-sleep cycle. Though for almost a fifth of the American population it was mainly thrown out of whack because of their jobs’ nature. Shift changes and night work hindered them from establishing an instinctive rhythm.

As a doctor working in the emergency department of a hospital, Will was all too familiar with this. In med school he’d learned all about the chemical processes in the body, stages of sleep, sleep disorders and their causes. Plus, he had his personal experiences with it as well: the constant alternating between getting little to no sleep when he had to pull yet another double and the snoozing a whole day away when he had time off. After four years as a resident in Chicago’s most frequented medical center, he was positive that due to the irregularities of his hours he was suffering from some kind or form of shift work sleep disorder – and he was just one of many doctors and nurses. Though he liked to think, his resulting sleeping problems weren’t too bad since he usually only struggled when he was either extremely stressed or had a lot of shift changes in a short time span.

Jay was on another level entirely. He too was used to working odd hours, even less predictable than Will’s for there were no actual shifts. The younger brother’s job consisted largely of being summoned to the district or a scene whenever crime occurred. Offenders had no regards for law enforcer’s beauty sleep, so the vast majority of the calls came in the middle of the night. Aside from those calls, there were also many instances in which the detective worked for days on end on time-sensitive cases, where the only rest to be had were random catnaps in the breakroom. If he was lucky. Nine to five office hours were exceedingly rare. For the elite unit Jay worked in they were pretty much nonexistent. His brother’s schedule or lack thereof almost made Will’s sometimes insane shifts look like a dreary office job.

In other words, the younger Halstead was used to sleeping in fluctuating intervals. He had the ability to function on a bare minimum of shuteye, and it had Will stumped sometimes on just how little sleep the other could and did get by on a regular basis. Some would say it stemmed from his time in the military, but the redhead knew better. Things had always been this way for the younger man.

Way back in their childhood, Jay’s sleeping habits had frustrated him to no end. For valid reasons: his little brother, despite being a hyperactive kid always running around doing something, never seemed to tire. Which was why he had constantly tested the limits of his bedtime. Although their father had effectively put an end to the habit with a stern dressing-down one evening when the younger one wasn’t even in pre-school yet, Will hadn’t been so lucky in escaping his sibling’s pestering. Behind closed doors, after lights-out, the bundle of energy had used all kinds of techniques to keep the older boy awake too. He would either throw pillows and stuffed animals to the top bunk, hit the slatted frame from below with his feet or climb up the ladder and point the bright spot of his flashlight right onto his face. He used to sigh purposely loud as well as he tossed and turned in his bed, rattling the frame of the entire bunk bed too. The most infuriating thing of it all was the fact that even though Jay had always stayed up well into the night, he’d always been the first one up the next morning, well-rested and chipper like a bird on the first warm day of spring.

By the time Will was well into second grade, he had basically begged his parents to finally grant him his own room. Unfortunately, the tiny house hadn’t been blessed with a spare room that he could use and the Halsteads hadn’t been able to afford a bigger house either. Thus, the older brother simply had had to grin and bear it and share with the annoying little brat from the moment Jay had been moved from the crib in their parent’s bedroom to the very day the redhead had left for college. A grand total of fifteen years, five months and twenty-nine days or rather nights. Yes, Will had counted and he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it.

He did, however, feel ashamed for the way he had treated his younger sibling back then. Especially in those earliest years Jay simply hadn’t known what to do with his boundless energy. After all, he was barely older than a toddler at the time. Granted, Will was barely any older, so he wasn’t supposed to know how much less equipped to handle the impersonated music box on a continuous loop.

There was one day in particular – Will must have been around eight or nine and Jay around six or seven – that stood out to the ginger, one that to this day he felt immensely guilty about. It was a memory so distinct that it could have been yesterday: in true fashion, the youngest Halstead had been awake long before the sun had risen over the horizon. In all his exuberance, he’d jumped on his older brother’s bed to wake him up. He couldn’t remember why, but for some reason Will had been irater by it than usual and ended up pushing the scrawnier kid off the ladder with a bit too much force. He had laid into him, yelled at him for being such a freaking pain in the ass all the time. His verbal barrage had gone on for a while, all his pent-up frustration over his baby brother’s insomniac habits unleashed in that moment, and it continued even when Jay had been frozen minutes later, still sat on the floor unmoving, both shocked into speechlessness as well as dazed from hitting his head on his way down.

No serious damage had been done. Though there had been a tiny bleeding laceration, it had clotted in no time on its own and Jay hadn’t even had a concussion. And yet, a lot a changed after that incident. The younger boy, while still the same whirlwind as before, had been a lot less obnoxious. He had also been just a tad wearier and somewhat timid around Will from then on. Instead of annoying him at night, he had started reading his books quietly under the tented blanket of his own bed so as not to disturb his big brother’s sleep. Instead of waking him at the crack of dawn, he had silently left the confines of their room to play by himself in the parlor, which was replaced by early morning runs and preparing hearty breakfasts for the whole family as he migrated into his teenage years.

Decades later and with years of experience as a doctor under his belt, the redhead knew that Jay’s inability to sleep past six hours a night wasn’t just a ridiculous habit. It was likely a mild form of a medical condition called short sleeper syndrome. His brother simply didn’t need more sleep. And while irritating for someone who had to share the same room with him throughout their entire childhood and adolescence, it had certainly worked in the former ranger’s favor when it came to his career choices. Especially on the perilous frontlines of Afghanistan where he’d basically been forced to sleep with one eye open at all times. It certainly helped with the crazy hours of a police detective on the dangerous streets of Chicago too.

And yet, knowing that his brother could easily function on little rest never put him at ease. Jay might not need more than six hours of sleep per night, but he certainly needed more than the average four he got. Will was aware that aside from the circumstances of his job, not even on the rare quiet days in the Intelligence Unit did his brother allow himself the luxury of shutting his mind off for a while and catch up on the missing hours of rest. There was always this perpetual alertness, this jaded vigilance in his slumber. Jay didn’t ever talk about his bouts of insomnia, which were undoubtedly triggered by nightmares and night terrors, but the doctor had witnessed them on occasion.

He wasn’t even surprised: the younger Halstead was bound to have amassed an impressive scope of horrible memories from both his two tours overseas and as a cop. Sometimes the ginger wondered whether having to work tirelessly on intense cases only to crash from sheer exhaustion once crimes were solved was more of a blessing in disguise for Jay. Whether the fatigue permitted the former ranger to get through the night just a smidgen more peacefully on those days. But sometimes he also wondered how long the human body could operate like this. How long would it take for his brother to drop from the gossamer enervation he put himself under all the time? He’d been close once not too long ago, thankfully managed to climb out of that particularly deep hole in huge parts thanks to Voight’s but mostly Hailey’s tough love and persistence. His brother had worked hard on getting better and he had come out on top of his demons. But he’d also experienced yet two more devastating losses since then and Will couldn’t help but notice the whispers of nagging worry at the back of his mind once more.

This morning, his concern increased, sparked by the fact that it was already going on seven thirty and he had yet to hear or see any sign of consciousness from his brother’s bedroom. While logically this should put the older Halstead at ease considering it also assured him that the detective hadn’t been in the throes of one of his many incubi, it was incredibly out of character for Jay. Under normal circumstances the younger man would already have an hour long run or gym session under his belt this time of day. He’d be showered, dressed, stuffed with a healthy breakfast rich in proteins and fueled by his morning coffee and residual adrenaline, ready to head out. Will had crashed on the couch enough times to know his brother’s routine by heart, had been woken by running water, clattering dishes and the sizzling of eggs in a pan on the stove dozens of times. Not today though.

Pushing the lingering disquiet to the farthest corners of his brain, Will allowed himself to relish the rare occurrence of being the first to be awake. He stretched contently, bent his back until he heard and felt the satisfying pop of something in his spine snapping back into its rightful place and rose from the sofa respective makeshift bed. He was still in his crispy, now wrinkled dress shirt from the funeral, his unappealing attire completed with the day-old boxer briefs. The doctor was in dire need of a change of clothes and, judging from the whiff he caught of himself, a shower too. Unfortunately, Will was separated from both by the bedroom still occupied by his still sleeping brother. In order to freshen up, he would inevitably have to disturb Jay.

Not for the first time the redhead realized just how much of a design flaw the whole apartment was. It was not at all considerate of the fact that normal people occasionally had friends over and that they might not want their guests to pass through their most private room for something as basic as using the lavatory.

Chuckling to himself, he opened the door carefully. His eyes fell on the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest under the rumpled sheets. Even in deep sleep a frown adorned the detective’s forehead, telltale sign that Jay’s night might not have been as tranquil as Will first assumed. He sighed internally, forced himself to resist the urge to walk over and smooth out the creases on his brother’s features, knowing fully well that the former ranger didn’t like being touched without warning, least of all when he wasn’t fully conscious. So instead of doing that, the older man tiptoed his way to the adjacent bathroom on sock-clad feet and closed the door as quietly as possible, unaware that despite his extreme caution the miniscule click of the lock woke the younger.

Will was surprised to find a stack of folded fresh clothes waiting for him on the toilet seat when he stepped out of the warm spray ten minutes later. Here he had thought he’d been stealthy, but it was proven once more: nothing went unnoticed by the former ranger. Shaking his head, he quickly dried off and put the clean garments on. He had a couple inches on the detective thus they were a tight fit, but it wasn’t lost on Will that Jay had been mindful enough to pick his loosest-fitting jeans, an oversized White Sox tee and a dark-grey zip-up hoodie for him to wear. Not the doctor’s everyday attire but comfortable enough.

Running a towel through his dripping red locks he emerged from the en-suite. As expected, the bedroom was empty, Jay’s bed already made to military precision. Will shook his head in amazement, never fully understanding the younger man’s incessant need for immaculateness. Curtains were opened as were the windows, a pungent petrichor breezing in. He closed his eyes momentarily, inhaling the pleasant smell. As he did, a hint of another stimulating aroma tickled his nostrils, mixing with the scent of the rain. The coffee machine spluttered enthusiastically somewhere in the apartment; the clanking of coffee mugs complemented the alluding melodic sounds in pretense of a perfect start into the day. Towel still in hand, he rounded the pillar into the small kitchen space, finding his brother there with disheveled brown curls and rumpled nightwear. “Good morning,” he greeted him, carelessly dropped the damp cloth on the counter and leisurely leaned his hip against the pass-through. “Thanks for the clothes.”

Jay turned around, nodding briefly. “You’re welcome.” His eyes fell first on the ginger, then the towel, before resting on him again. He arched a disapproving brow, waiting for him to reclaim it, which he did with an exaggerated eye roll. Satisfied with this, the younger man offered his own curt, “morning.” He put the mugs in front of him and turned around to retrieve a container from the refrigerator door, the coffeemaker meanwhile letting out a row of exited burps crescendoing into a drawn-out hiss to announce its finale.

“Just in time,” Will commented, referring to his impeccable timing of finishing his shower. He grabbed the pot and poured black liquid in both cups. Jay added a healthy amount from the carton into his, then handed it to his brother. Reading the label, the older man grimaced. “What’s with you and almond milk? I swear, you’re literally the only person in the whole world who drinks this stuff,” he complained. He splashed a tiny spatter into his own coffee anyway just because he hated to drink it black. Taking a sip, he pulled a face, pretending to be disgusted by the taste even though he could barely make out the flavor.

The younger Halstead shrugged his shoulders and smirked, lifting his own mug to hide his amusement. He let the hot lifeblood wash down his throat and esophagus, breathing in the comforting earthy aroma, instantly regretting the deep inhale. Unable to keep from wincing as the inflation of his lungs elicited a flaring pain in his ribs, he tried to conceal his momentary lapse by moving around. Jay didn’t want to draw unwanted attention from Will first thing in the morning. But no matter how cautiously he moved, he could already feel the scrutinizing eyes of the doctor on him. Leaning against the counter next to his brother, he hunched into himself ever so slightly to ease the strain on his aching ribcage. He tried to act casual, but it was in vain; the other had already picked up on his discomfort.

“You okay?” the older brother inquired, never capable of fully shutting off the medical professional in him. He’d noticed the exceptional sparseness of words from Jay. The former ranger wasn’t the biggest conversationalist in the morning despite him being an early bird, so silence wasn’t uncommon. Come to think of it, the detective wasn’t much of a talker in general, hated to fill empty space with mindless small talk and chatter, but he was nimble-witted if he wanted to be. And they’d usually at least exchange a little bit of brotherly banter over breakfast. While Will could easily put his brother’s quiet today down on him still being tired and dreading the promised trip to the hospital, he also knew that the younger man tended to retreat into himself even more whenever he wasn’t feeling well. Hell, he’d done it all of the last week.

He frowned at his brother, whose reaction was just what the ginger anticipated: annoyed and dismissive. The brunette threw his head back and huffed in exasperation, a cynical grumble vibrating in his vocal cords. “There goes my five minutes of peace and quiet.” Jay adjusted his stance, back stiffened with tension as he erected his protective walls around him. Shifting his cup to one hand he lifted the other to his face and dug his thumb and index finger painfully on either side of the bridge of his nose. It was when the younger man dropped his hand again that the redhead noticed the fine creases of pain lingering around the edges of his brother’s eyes as well as the clamminess of still too pale skin. The detective clearly wasn’t well.

Will shook his head in sadness. “That’s what you get for letting yourself get shot and not taking your meds,” he countered, a trace of humor overshadowed by his concern. “Speaking of,” the doctor put his own mug down and moved to the other side of the kitchen. He opened and closed the hanging cupboard before rattling the orange bottles the younger man loathed so much mockingly. The irritated growl from the former ranger went ignored as the older Halstead ran a glass under the faucet and thrust it in from of the detective in silent prompting.

Jay stared blankly at him through narrowed eyes but made no attempt to grab the water from his waiting hand. “Don’t need them,” he gritted out stubbornly and averted his gaze, sipping his coffee in bogus insouciance. He knew his petulant manner to be childish, was aware that his brother wouldn’t relent but he wanted to knock out just that extra minute of granted amnesty. It wasn’t like he would be getting much of that once they were on their way to the hospital.

Oblivious to his brother’s intentions the redhead glanced up at him, both eyebrows arched. “I believe you do,” he insisted, not budging in the slightest and unwilling to let himself be dragged into a lengthy discussion about the necessity of medication. Will laboriously shook the tiny white pills out of the containers with one hand and held them in front of his brother’s nose. “Take ‘em.” The instruction left no room for debate, yet Jay remained stoic. The older Halstead felt his patience slowly waning.

“I’m okay Will. There’s really no need for those,” his little brother brushed him off, nodding towards the tablets in the other man’s open palm. Feeling cockier and more defiant than the night before, he dared taking his noncompliance one step further despite the increasing scowl on the doctor’s face. “Actually, there’s no need to go to the hospital either. Sleeping helped a lot. I’m fine, really.” He wasn’t fine, but Jay would never admit that out loud. While Will’s persistence was touching, it was also a cruel reminder of the many times in which the ginger couldn’t be bothered with him in the past. Sure, he had grown to be more responsible and more supportive of his little brother. Yet sometimes the younger man wished the older would go back to his former dismissive ways.

Jay was accustomed to taking second billing to everything and everyone, had come to terms with the fact a long time ago, almost relished in it nowadays as it usually got people off his back faster. But this new reformed version of his brother was something he didn’t know how to deal with. It forced him to confront emotions and memories buried deep inside him, some of which had already been dredged up by their father’s death. That alone was scary enough. He didn’t want Will to push, didn’t want him to dig deeper into those pits, because he knew some of the truths to be harsh and unforgiving. He didn’t want to reveal them out of fear that they might cause his brother to run from him once more and he didn’t know if he could take losing his big brother again. Hence his reluctance to taking the offending pain medication. Jay was aware of his hypersensitivity towards them and the tongue-loosening effect they had on him. They would undeniably make it that much harder for him to protect Will from the bitter verities scattered in his brain.

Then there was also the anxiety of being pushed away regardless. Events from a decade ago, Will’s leaving and his father’s belittlements, had fed his insecurities and manifested abandonment issues. Those weren’t easy to overcome. So, Jay very much preferred to keep all this to himself. Both to protect others but also himself from any additional heartbreak. He’d endured so much of that over the years; he didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Nuh uh-uh,” Will tutted scornfully, completely in the dark about the thoughts invading the detective’s mind. He would have raised a reproachful finger at his brother too, if only he had a hand free. “Don’t you dare argue with me Jay. I can see that you’re in pain. I am a doctor, remember?” He received a halfhearted eye roll. “And before you even think about saying anything else, I know you’ve had worse.” ‘Sure you do,’ Jay thought to himself sardonically, shaking his head slightly but thankfully the older man missed it. Or maybe he simply ignored it. “I know you can handle yourself. But you don’t have to and you’re most definitely not going to. Not on my watch anyway. Not if I have a say in it. So just take the damn pills already.”

It took all the former ranger’s willpower not to scoff at that. “Will,” the brunette attempted instead, but the redhead shook his head vehemently, a glower plastered on his features. As if to prove his current superiority as well as the truth of his statement he intentionally pushed the cup of water into his brother’s chest, using a little more force than necessary. It drew a betraying hiss from the younger Halstead’s lips. With an angry grunt Jay set the coffee mug on the counter, brown liquid sloshing over the rim from the brute mishandling. He snatched the offending tablets from his doctor’s palm and washed them down with a large gulp of water, eyes never leaving the older man. He childishly opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to assure him that he had indeed swallowed the meds.

The doctor chuckled, amused by his brother’s antics. “Atta boy,” he cooed, but Jay was far from being in a humorous mood. Fury was blazing in his gaze; proverbial daggers were thrown at Will. His lower jaw protruded, and his lips were pursed as he fetched his coffee off the counter and chugged the remaining contents of the mug down in one go. Only once it was empty did he break eye contact with the other. The cup was discarded in the sink, the spilled remnants of coffee were wiped up with a paper towel – because even angry Jay hated leaving a mess behind – and words of wanting to take a shower were begrudgingly muttered before the detective vanished from the kitchen.

“Holler when you’re done, so that I can…” Cut off by the bedroom door slamming shut behind his little brother, Will never got to finish his sentence. The ginger shook his head, finding himself in a weird state in between feeling victorious and repentant. “…change your dressing,” he finished to himself with a sigh, realizing that just like he had expected things wouldn’t go as smoothly as they had the previous night. He debated going after him to check on him but wisely decided against it, allowing the other to cool off a bit. Even after what he had hoped had been replenishing sleep, Jay was as irritable and stubborn as ever. The impending follow-up was bound to be nerve-racking and the doctor wasn’t looking forward to it.

As not to infuriate the younger Halstead even further by leaving the dishes to him, Will busied himself with cleaning. He threw the soggy coffee dripper into the bin, rinsed the pot as well as his and Jay’s mugs, drying them with the kitchen towel and put away the carton of almond milk, taking stock of the fridge as he did. Pleasantly surprised to find it filled to the brim with healthy and fresh produce and satisfied with the state the kitchen was in, he permitted himself a small reprieve by lounging on the couch whilst his brother got ready. Gathering the much-needed perseverance that he was sure would be needed for the visit to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next installment is set in 2008. It focuses on our favorite TV brothers again, and marks a key moment in their relationship. So stay tuned.
> 
> Happy belated Thanksgiving to all my American readers. I know it's a difficult year especially around the holidays, but I hope and pray that you all still have a lot to be thankful for. I for one am incredibly thankful for all my readers out there, the comments, the kudos, the subscriptions.
> 
> Please stay safe and healthy!


	11. Leave Me Where I Lay, Ragged Pile of Bones, Forever Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The broken frame mocked him, fractured, just like their family, just like the relationship with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm both excited and anxious to get this chapter out to you. I wanted to post it on the weekend but I simply couldn't stop myself, because I really want to know what you guys think about this one. Personally, I like this installment a lot, which is a rare occurrence. The insecurity lingers nonetheless.
> 
> To sum it up for you, this chapter is set in 2008, and it's probably the most decisive turning point in the Halstead brother's relationship. Without further ado, let's get into this. Enjoy!
> 
> Title is from St. Paul de Vence's 'Farther Than Light'.

The death of a mother was one of if not the most devastating loss a person had to endure in life.

While losing either parent was undeniably hard, it was usually the passing of the mom that hit the hardest and left a ripping heartache so excruciating that people felt like part of them perished along with her. It didn’t matter if the relationship was strained whilst she was alive. It didn’t matter if a person was closer to their father than their mother. Even for a daddy’s girl or boy there was always something special, something untouchable and inseverable about the bond between a mother and her child. After all, she was the one who carried and nurtured them, especially in those earliest days of their existence. It all came down to this intimate connection. An intuitive attachment, developed in those crucial first months and years of a infant’s life, that always remained a lurking shadow in the back of a person’s mind. And it was this very instinct and tenderness that was the reason why people loved their moms unconditionally and mourned their losses on such a profound level, no matter how tainted by unpleasant memories and less than stellar circumstances their relationship might have been.

Losing a mother was so utterly poignant for other reasons too. In most settings she was the heart and soul of the family: a manager albeit without a fancy college degree. She was a multitasking coordinator of gatherings and events, a skilled entertainer and communicator, a mediator and a safety blanket. She was the one making everyone see rationale when the family was short of domestic bliss. She was the one bringing all the members of the clan to the table every night with a home-cooked dinner. She was the one who urged them to apologize to one another and hug it out when disagreement lingered. In other words: a mother was the driving motor ensuring that the family worked like a well-oiled machine, and she was also the kit holding it all together. But to her own flesh and blood she was so much more than that.

Provided there was a strong link between them, a mom was, is and always will be the one to stand behind her child. The one supporting them boundlessly, the one advocating for them no matter the troubles they might get themselves into. She was the one consoling and mending their first broken heart, offering advice and giving them the strength to face the next day. She was the one encouraging them to thrive in their scholastics without being pushy, allowing them to rise to challenges and pursue their aspirations in life in a positive and constructive manner. Sometimes the bond went so deep that a mother became a lifelong best friend, the most trusted confidant of her child. And this was ultimately, what made saying goodbye to her that much more difficult when the time came for her to part from the world.

With a mother’s departure family structures compulsorily changed. Roles shifted as the remaining family members were forced to adjust to the new situation. With young children involved who were still heavily dependent on parental guidance, fathers had to step up. They had to shoulder the additional responsibilities of their missing counterpart. If they were unable to or unavailable, close relatives like grandparents, aunts and uncles, or maybe older siblings had to fill the void a deceased mother left behind. Ideally, those modifications to the dynamics brought the bereaved closer together. But there was always risk of disintegration, the risk of relationships fragmenting and family members drifting apart and this peril often increased the older potentially involved children were. It also hinged on how grand a role the mother had played in keeping the band together, on how cordial and harmonious the undercurrents had been before. If there had been cracks in the façade prior to her demise, it was all the likelier that a family fell apart over her loss.

One day after Sadhbh’s funeral it was still too early to tell how exactly her death would affect the Halstead men, but the probable outcome already loomed ahead. To Jay it had been apparent long before his mom’s heart had stopped beating, long before her lungs had sucked in their final sporadic breaths, and long before her brain had been too clouded by opioids to think straight. Glaringly telling had been his father’s and brother’s absence from the hospital, even more so their lack of coherence and support. To the young sergeant it was eye-opening that neither had attempted to reach out in the two months leading up to his mom’s last day alive on earth. She deserved so much better than the dismissal she got from them. And while the youngest had tried to convince himself that he had only ever wanted them to reach out to her, he had secretly just as much wanted them to ask how he was faring in all of this. He could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t care, but he ached so desperately to share his grief with the only two people who had just lost the same precious person he had.

But it was wishful thinking. No matter how badly he yearned for the three of them to be some semblance of a family, for them to be huddled together in the tiny living room – his father in the recliner while he and Will shared the worn couch – Jay had ended up alone in the nine by nine feet space regardless. Slouched in the armchair, right leg drawn up, his elbow propped up and his forehead nestled in the palm of his hand, the ranger stared at the same unoccupied spot on the shabby old loveseat where the covers were singed from what he could only assume to be cigarette burns.

The sight of them brought him back to that recent yet so distant memory from a week ago. When Jay had initially come home from the hospital that night after the doctors had called his mother’s death, he’d been shocked by how run down he’d found the house. The entire place had been a disaster, the parlor by far in the worst state of neglect out of all the rooms. Three out of five bulbs in the old chandelier had been burnt-out, the throw pillows on the sofa soiled with grease and beer stains and the furniture had collected at least half an inch of dust. Month-old newspapers, magazines and mail had been scattered around, beer bottles and cigarette butts as well as all sorts of unidentifiable trash had littered every surface of the tiny family room. The most disgusting were the half empty takeout containers with God knew what kind of new species of life growing in them and the repellent smell – a mix of mold, stale alcohol, cold smoke and most revoltingly: bodily fluids – permeating the air.

Had his nose and stomach not been steeled by the horrible stenches he’d been subjected to in the hellhole of Afghanistan, the ranger would have bolted on his heel and retched right onto the stairs of the front porch.

For a second, he’d been positive that he had stepped into a twilight zone. But he knew this place by heart. He knew every creaking floorboard in the house, and he knew how the fifth step of the stairs was slightly steeper than the rest of them. He knew that in order to close the front door he had to lever it up just a tad. He knew never to lock the bathroom door, because the crooked metal easily got stuck, and he knew he needed to flick the switch in the family room a couple of times for it to turn on the light because there had been a slack joint for years that they had never cared to repair. He knew every lose spring in the couch and the exact spot where an old rusty nail poked out from under the coffee table because he had torn at least a dozen pants on it. Underneath all the junk those little defects and quirks were still there somewhere, so there was no doubt that this was the house he’d grown up in.

Nevertheless, the decrepitude pained him immensely. The Halstead residence, while it had never matched the sterility of a Mr. Clean commercial, had always been well kept, at least up until his mom had fallen ill. She’d always had a motto and she had drilled it into Will and Jay that, “it’s important to keep order, but for a house to feel like a home it also needs to show signs of habitation.” So, there had always been just the right amount of clutter. She had always accidentally forgotten about one mug and a spoon when she’d done the dishes, just as she had forgotten to dust one corner of the bookshelf. Always a different one so that no-one could tell, but he had noticed anyway.

And then there had been the little back and forth with the shoes, the playful banter between Sadhbh and her youngest that had always been an open secret between the two. One of his mother’s quirks had been to disrupt any sign of perfection and that had included the sneakers lined up at the front door. For as long as the brunette could remember she had always scattered one boot, just one, to keep the illusion of carelessness. She had always done it right before she went to bed, so that no one would notice. But one night, Jay had watched her do it, and it had sparked a jocular competition. As an early riser, the youngest Halstead had made it his first act of the day to put the shoes in a perfect orderly straight line, and he’d done the same every night before retreating to his room, knowing that the next morning he’d find one sneaker jumbled again.

They had repeated they spiel every single day for the entirety of his teenage years. It was their little thing. And even though Jay had believed himself to be inconspicuous about his shenanigans, he was certain that his mom had always had her suspicions that it was him. She’d said as much just a week before her passing, and he had admitted to it then, their reminiscing allowing them a rare, unburdened fit of laughter in a hopeless situation. He could still hear her soft silver giggle in his head, and he missed it so much that his heart constricted painfully. Missed it even more once he had seen the pure chaos of the house. She would have been devastated, had she seen the state their home was in.

It was that agonizing thought of what her reaction would have been that had spurred him into action that night despite his bone-deep fatigue. On autopilot he’d scrubbed the whole place down, room by room, never once stopping until there had been no evidence of filthiness left. He’d thrown out every piece of garbage, vacuumed every crumb of the floor and scoured the covers and carpets. He’d dusted and disinfected every surface, washed the spreads, blankets, pillowcases, even the curtains. He’d switched out the defect lightbulbs in the chandelier, fixed a leaking faucet in the bathroom and screwed a kitchen cabinet door on tight which had been off its hinges. He cleaned to near perfection, purposely leaving a coffee mug and a teaspoon on the kitchen counter and deliberately foregoing the far-right corner of the third shelf of the mantelpiece. He’d lined up the shoes in a neat line, fooling himself into believing that his mother would tug one boot out later that night.

By the time he’d finished, he’d been so enervated that he had collapsed in the armchair in the living room. But it hadn’t been the exhaustion or the pain from hours of straining his still mending shoulder and knee way beyond what the doctors and therapists had advised that had caused him to break down then and there. It had been the sudden realization that no amount of cleaning would ever make this house feel like home again. There was something or more specifically someone missing. And that someone who held the power to fill this place with warmth and coziness and love was forever gone. His mom would never intentionally leave dirty dishes, dusty corners or a disarrayed shoe ever again because his mom was never coming home.

He’d sobbed himself into a restless, dreamless sleep that night, and to this day it remained the only time he’d allowed his grief to bubble to the surface and spill over like that aside from the meltdown in the hospital. Even now, a day after they had put the final nail in the proverbial coffin, or rather the literal lid on the urn, Jay couldn’t bring himself to cry again. He wanted to be back in that headspace from a few days ago, that state of denial, but he couldn’t escape that final image of his mom that constantly filled his mind: the spindle fingers hanging lax in his hand, her rail-thin and frail body, no more than a carcass, and the bluish tint to her otherwise sickly white skin.

In the dimly lit parlor Jay nearly choked on the horror of that Godawful memory. His eyes fell on the framed black and white photograph clutched in his hand, a picture he memorized by heart from looking at it a million times in the past four years while on deployment. It had been his anchor in those cold and lonely sleepless nights out in the mountains of Korengal. He’d carried the six by four with him up until the day of the fateful attack on the convoy, his much thumbed and tattered copy forever lost in the blast that had atrociously killed so many of his comrades. Maybe the way it had dissolved to ash had been a vicious omen of what was waiting for him at home.

Jay’s throat had clogged upon seeing the original print among the family portraits on the bookshelf days before. Its sight surmounting him with an overwhelming sense of calm and security, almost like the comforting arms of his mom wrapping around him, holding him just like they did in this very photo, while her gentle voice whispered affectionate and soothing words to him. He’d desperately clung to the picture ever since, in frantic hope of keeping that phantom feeling alive and replacing the horrible images in his mind’s eye. Alas, it didn’t.

A muffled crash startled him from his thoughts. The young man leapt from the armchair and accidentally knocked the monochrome from his hand in the process. It fell to the floor with a clink. A fleeting glance at the item revealed a large crack in the glass of the frame, and Jay cursed himself for being so jumpy. He’d conceited himself that he had overcome his jitteriness after those first days back in Chicago, but the adrenaline constantly pumping through his blood for the past week had reawakened his anxiety – at least that was his flimsy excuse. In reality, the smallest noise caused him to flinch. Whether it was the hum of the refrigerator, the chortle of the mixer tab or a stray animal hunting for food in the neighbor’s backyard. Unexpected sounds sent him in an immediate state of panic, and every precipitous movement jarred on his not quite healed wounds.

The ranger tried to calm his nerves and even his hiccupping breathing when more thumps came from above. A door creaked, followed by heavy trampling down the stairs along with intermitted clunking of something metal hitting against the wooden railing. Jay gingerly stood, hissing as his hip and knee complained about overexertion and skipped physical therapy sessions. With a stiff limp he shuffled over to the arch opening into the narrow hallway. There he found his older brother descending the final three steps, a hefty suitcase in one hand and a dress bag housing the suit he’d worn to the funeral slung over his shoulder. “Will?” he rasped, sounding as if he’d just swallowed a jar of rusty nails. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Strands of red curls fell onto the forehead of the other man as he whiplashed his head in Jay’s direction, acknowledging his presence briefly before busying himself with his luggage. “What does it look like?” he asked passive-aggressively as he placed the case in the corner and hung the garment bag on the knob of the front door. “I’m going back to New York.” He turned on his axis in search of his sneakers and grabbed the shoehorn off the hook on the wall. His left foot lifted to the second to last step as Will slipped into the boot with one swift motion.

Eyes wide and lips slightly parted, Jay gaped at him in shock. The bags were a dead giveaway that the ginger intended on leaving, but hearing the verbal confirmation prompted a surge of fear. “What?” Will might not have given him the warm reunion and brotherly consolation he had hoped for, but for as long as he was still in Chicago there was at least a sliver of hope in him that the siblings might help and support each other through their intense grief. “No,” he said determinedly and shook his head in denial as if that could stop the older man. “You… why?” He was met with a wall of silence. An icy sensation washed over Jay. “Will, you just got here two days ago. You can’t just leave again.” As much as he tried to keep the plea out of his voice he failed miserably.

Planting his left foot back on the floor, Will straightened his back and faced the other with a mask mostly devoid of emotion. Merely a hint of annoyance breezed over his features as he rolled his eyes. “Three,” he corrected smart-alecky, then, upon seeing Jay’s confused expression, clarified matter-of-factly, “I got here three days ago.” He slipped into his right shoe as he added, “and yes, I can, and I will.” The ginger turned away, bent down and proceeded tying the laces.

Jay furrowed his brows and arched his upper lips in utter disbelief, staring at the mop of unruly hair. “Will, mom just died!” he exclaimed incredulously, his tone alone delivering the impact of the words spoken and for a millisecond the crouching man halted his movement as if their meaning only just now sunk in. “How can you leave for New York when you are needed here?” Jay accused in desperation, voice quivering with accrued emotion and on the verge of breaking. “We need you here, man,” he continued shakily. The postpositive, “I need you here,” was no more than a heartbroken whisper.

The older man flinched as he heard the despair in Jay’s forlorn revelation. He gulped. His little brother didn’t ever admit to needing someone, saw it as a weakness. It was a belief that they had both been inculcated with by their father throughout their childhood, especially since they had reached an age in the double digits. Thus, the younger of the two had always been too stubborn to give the old man the satisfaction and endorsement of exposing his weak points. He refused to make himself susceptible to the hurt that would inevitably follow. The only one who’d ever been privileged to see the soft, sensitive side of him had been their mom. Now, to hear the brunette divulge his vulnerability to his big brother, who had basically iced him out for the duration of his stay, nearly paralyzed him.

Will stood slowly, daring a sideways glimpse at his younger sibling despite his better judgement not to. The watery Maui blue seas staring back at him squeezed his insides uncomfortably. The drawn features, the trembling of his lower lip, the anguished gaze, they were all a painful mirror of his own unaddressed grief. It was too much.

Shaking his head, he averted his eyes then turned away from Jay completely. He exhaled a shuddering breath to compose himself. “I can’t stay, Jay. I have to get back to school.” The redhead’s voice was strained, yet there was an underlying tone which almost resembled that of a parent telling a five-year-old that Santa and the Easter bunny didn’t exist and were merely a figment of their imagination. Will was certain, if he would glance at his brother, he’d find the same perplexed disbelief morphing into frozen shock on his features as the meaning of the words truly sank in. He couldn’t face that look, had to keep convincing himself that his reasoning was valid instead. He was a third-year medical student living in an exorbitantly expensive city. He couldn’t afford to slack and risk losing the scholarship he’d worked so hard for. If he did, he’d have to pick extra jobs to pay for costly student fees on top of to rent and bills. And if he had to pick up additional work, he’d have less time to study. It was a vicious cycle that he didn’t want to be drawn into. He’d come too far for that and he had worked his ass off to get there.

He shook his head, hoping to keep the emotions at bay. Reaching for the coatrack he grabbed his black leather jacket, slipped into the rubbery sleeves and adjusted the collar. A thin light grey scarf was thrown around his neck, the ends dangling unevenly in front of his torso. He had to leave, couldn’t stand the oppressing atmosphere of this house any longer, was sure he’d break if he remained here one more hour, much less another day.

Refusing to let his brother turn away from him like this, Jay surged forward on impulse. Stiff and cramped muscles in his left leg were forgotten about as he stumbled the short distance of the hallway. He almost made it to Will, fingertips barely brushing the ginger’s shoulder when his knee buckled, the tendons still too weak to bear his full weight. The tearing sensation was all too familiar by now, but the ranger couldn’t care less at this point. He felt betrayed by his own body. Possessing enough self-preservation, he grappled for the railing for balance, preventing a potentially further damaging unceremonious fall. His palm was sweaty, and his grip threatened to slip, knuckles turning white as he curled his fingers even tighter around the smooth cherry wood.

Upon seeing his younger sibling crumple from the peripheral of his vision, the older Halstead acted instinctively. He grabbed the flailing man under one elbow and the armpit, none too gently hoisting him up against the baluster for support. Jay grimaced as the column pressed into his shoulder blade, the impact jarring healing bones and cartilage. Will slightly retracted the hand from under his brother’s armpit and fisted the material of his sweater instead. He felt the tremor run through the body beneath him and as he looked up into the ranger’s freckled face, he realized they hadn’t been in such proximity since his arrival three nights ago. Thus, he hadn’t noticed the lines of physical discomfort around his little brother’s eyes and the permanent wince etched into his features until now. Or maybe he had seen and decided to ignore them. But now, mere inches away from Jay’s face there was no way for him to dismiss the hollowed-out cheeks, the favoring of his left side and – had his brother always been so thin?

Something was amiss, but Will wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. No, he was certain he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to have a reason that convinced him to stay in Chicago. He found himself asking nonetheless, though there was no honest concern in the spoken query. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

The harsh tone seemed to rub Jay the wrong way and fury pumped a healthy dose of adrenaline into his blood, emboldening him with new energy. His body tensed and in a flash of anger he slapped the arms still holding him upright away with one hand while pushing against the older Halstead’s chest with the other. Dumbfounded by the impromptu agility, Will stumbled backwards. Despite his obviously injured state, Jay was surprisingly strong. Though maybe it wasn’t that surprising at all considering he was a trained soldier. “You have a nerve asking me that now, three days after you came home,” the ranger growled as he forced himself to maintain a steady stance. The ginger had the audacity to look down abashed, feeling caught. But his younger brother had more to say. “Are you legitimately worried or are you just trying to ease your conscience?” he spat bitterly.

Will huffed weakly. “Oh, come on. Don’t be an ass, Jay.” There was a hint of scolding in there but mostly weariness mixed with shame. Deep down he knew his sibling to be right and he was embarrassed, though he wouldn’t admit to that. “You’re my brother. Of course, I worry about you.” There was no hesitation in his statement, but it sounded like a lame excuse even to his own ears, and the med student wondered whom he was trying to convince: Jay or himself. In his mind there was no doubt that he cared about his baby brother, but asking him about his wellbeing now, in a poor half-assed way at that, was simply too little too late.

“Yeah?” Jay scoffed tiredly; the monosyllabic question was laced with sour resentment. “You have a funny way of showing it. You barely spoke five words to me since I picked you up from the airport. You talked more to dad.” He chuckled dryly. “Hell, you probably talked more to him in the last days than your entire senior year.” Will frowned, unsure where this was leading. “And yet,” the ranger continued, shaking his head rapidly, “you couldn’t even ask once how I am. You couldn’t even spare me a single glance throughout the entire funeral.” The younger Halstead choked on a sob, swallowed futilely past the lump in his throat. His anger suddenly whooshed out of him and he slumped his shoulders, already regretting that he had even opened his mouth. That he had made himself vulnerable like that. Nothing good ever came from it. Forcing himself to sober up a bit, he mumbled, “forget I said anything.”

But Will didn’t want to forget, instead let it spur on his own frustration. “Are you fucking serious, Jay?” he thundered disbelievingly. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous of dad because I spent more time by his side than yours during the ceremony?” Jay knitted his brows and shook his head in denial. “Do you think you’re the only one grieving here?” The younger parted his lips to say something, but the med student cut him off before he had a chance to do so. “Because newsflash, Jay: you’re not. I just lost my mom too. Dad just lost his wife, the love of his life. And unlike you,” Will poked a finger at his younger brother, “we didn’t get to say goodbye to her. We didn’t have the luxury to sit next to her hospital bed every day for the past weeks.” The ranger stared at him, baffled, but the redhead wasn’t finished, the hardest blow yet to come. “So, don’t be such a baby. You’re an adult for God’s sake. Just suck it up and stop being so selfish all the time. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His words felt like a slap to the face, and hadn’t Jay already stood against the baluster, he would have staggered back from their brute invisible force. Will felt immediate regret as he saw the ranger blanch, his face twisting in an anguished expression that had absolutely nothing to do with physical maladies. His spiteful remark had undeniably hurt his little brother. What he had just said to him was uncalled for; it wasn’t even true. Jay wasn’t selfish, in fact he was anything but. There was nothing egocentric about putting his life at risk in a war against terrorism to protect his country and the people he loved. And there was nothing egoistic about asking for a little comfort from a family member after another beloved one had just died. Logically Will knew that. The redhead wanted to take his words back, wanted to apologize but Jay beat him to the punch.

Squaring his shoulders and schooling his face into a blank mask, he nodded subtly. “You’re right,” he said deafeningly quiet, no trace of emotion whatsoever. “I have no right to ask this. I’m sorry.” The brunette stared down at his hands. They were shaking violently, so he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stuffed them under his armpits. Not before Will caught the trembling, though. Feeling like a horrible person for what he had said to his clearly struggling younger sibling, he blinked against the tears burning behind his eyes. He stepped forward, raised his hands to reach out and console the ranger, whose muscles were strained to a point of almost snapping. As his left hand was about to touch Jay’s right biceps, the younger man flinched violently, his back pressing against the wooden column behind him.

Will recoiled as if burned and stared helplessly at his little brother. “Jay, I…” he began, but he really didn’t know what to say. An apology was unquestionably in order, but it wouldn’t even begin to ease the pain he had just inflicted. He dropped his hand to his side and shuffled his feet awkwardly as he mulled over how to proceed, chewing his bottom lip nervously. “I’m so-…” The sorry was swallowed by the honking of a car, the indication that his cab had arrived. The redhead closed his eyes, silently cursing the driver for terrible timing, and by doing so missed the way his younger brother nearly jumped out of his skin. When he opened them again, he tried to approach Jay, who looked like the slightest breeze might knock him over, once more.

But the brunette pulled back even more, tightened his protective arms around his midsection defensively. “Your cab is here,” he stated superfluously, voice hoarse and thick with suppressed emotion and oh so small. The ranger yearned for the promised touch, but it would only increase the pain of Will leaving. So, he denied himself that tiny promise of an ounce of comfort, telling himself it was easier this way, and winced as another impatient prolonged toot sounded from the street. When the older Halstead still hesitated, he rasped in a near-whisper, “have a safe trip.”

It set the redhead in motion. With slow timid movements he picked up the suitcase by the door and the garment bag from the knob, turning the brass as he did. He glanced at Jay apologetically, feeling like a Godawful being for leaving his baby brother behind like this, with the unresolved argument looming ominously over their heads. The “I’m sorry Jay,” did nothing to alleviate his guilt. There was no vocabulary to describe how much he begrudged his earlier accusation, no words to illustrate the bitter regret he felt at this moment for his departure. “I’ll call when I land.” A promise that he intended on keeping but wouldn’t abide by.

A third honk blared, intercepted with miniscule pauses that underlined the driver’s annoyance over having to wait so long, and Will dragged his feet over the threshold and onto the porch. The soft click as the door snapped shut reverberated stridently loud in Jay’s ears and he swore it was more deafening than the explosion in Korengal Valley. He cringed, hunched his shoulders and untangled his arms. His hands fell onto his knees, bracing his upper body. From the corner of his eye he caught the glint of light reflecting off something on the floor in the parlor. The lamination breaking where the surface of the glass was cracked. He recognized the shattered frame holding the monochrome picture of his mom that was so dear to him. It was his undoing. His breath caught in his throat, a strangled sob escaped, and his eyes pricked with unshed tears.

Jay slid to the floor, his legs no longer capable of holding him upright, and he immediately curled into himself. More sobs followed the first, tumbling over one another as the moisture gathering in his eyes spilled over. He clutched his fists against the searing pain in his chest, his unbearable heartbreak no longer containable. The broken frame mocked him, fractured, just like their family, just like the relationship with his brother, the only relative whom he had believed to be comforted by. But just like everyone else, he had walked out on him, leaving him utterly bereft of any domestic love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments on the previous chapter, they really made me happy. I don't ask often but because of how dear this chapter is to me, would you consider leaving me comments again? I'd be ecstatic!
> 
> I'm currently on the fence which chapter I'll post next. Depending on which one I will decide on it's either going to be 2008 or 2018. If I decide on the 2018 installment, it might take a bit longer until I update next because that one isn't finished yet. Stay tuned.
> 
> As always, stay safe and healthy!


	12. A Broken Body's Pieces, Scattered on A Phantom Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His vindictive words had always cut to the bone and they had hurt just as much as a fist connecting with the tender skin of an eight-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a slightly longer AN than usual as there are a few things I'd like to address.
> 
> First of all, thank you for all your lovely comments. They truly blow my mind and warm my heart. I honestly don't know how to deal with all the praise.
> 
> Second of all, I'd like to heed a little warning for this upcoming chapter. A few chapters ago we got a rather lengthy glimpse into Pat Halstead's point of view, where he was made out to be a man who deeply loves his wife and cares for Jay but is unable to express his feelings towards the latter. This one sheds some light on why that is, but it also shows a completely different side of him. I hope it doesn't completely revoke the humanity I've given him in that other chapter. If it does, that's not my intention.
> 
> It is, however, inevitable with the topic that I broach here. It's a topic that is extremely personal for me, a topic that is extremely hard to grasp and understand and even though I have extensive first hand experience with it even I barely grasp and understand it to its full extend. In fact, I barely even scratch the surface. A lot in this chapter might not make sense to you, and quite frankly, some of it doesn't even make sense to me. It feels like the chapter is all over the place, but no matter how hard I tried to get it in order, it remained a jumbled mess. Maybe that's not all bad, because it kind of fits: having to live with someone like Jay's father really is a constant roller-coaster of emotions. Believe me, I know. I've been on that roller-coaster for all of my thirty years.
> 
> Anyway, I'm procrastinating posting this by writing a ridiculously long note that I'm sure no-one cares about, so let's just dive into the chapter, which, by the way, is set in 2008.
> 
> Title is taken from Joshua James' wonderful 'Broken Tongue'.

Narcissism was often used as a synonym for an inflated ego or exaggerated self-importance.

Vanity undeniably played an essential part when trying to describe someone with narcistic tendencies, but it was a common misconception that everyone with a healthy self-regard was evidently a narcissist. Reversely, it was an oversimplification to limit a narcistic personality disorder to just this one trait. Narcissism in its truest form ran much deeper than that. It had many layers which wove into an intricate character and often wasn’t discernible to the average person, mostly because they didn’t know what they were looking for. Even those living or dealing with a narcissist every day sometimes had a hard time finding the appropriate label for what they were going through.

Aside from being infatuated with themselves, one of the trademarks for the disorder was an extreme investment in creating an illusion of a pretense self, an identity that they wanted other people to envy and marvel at. They spent a ridiculous amount of time flaunting the grandiosity that they made themselves out to be. How this outward appearance was perceived by others mattered more than substantiating the image painted for the world to see. To put it simple, narcissists invented and portrayed someone they were not. They put on an act. And they wanted their audience to applaud them for their outstanding performance. Awe and adoration were what they craved for, hence they stepped out on a stage to be the center of attention, constantly bouncing on their heels as they waited for the standing ovation and beamed at every praise and special treatment hailed down on them.

But their greatness had an on-off-switch. In all their thirst for glory, achieved by charming and seducing the people they surrounded themselves with, they had the ability to turn off the allure with a snap of the finger. One minute they tended to shower those receptible to their appeal with words of love and affection, told them how gorgeous and graceful they were to draw them in and put them under their spell. However, if that didn’t work or if they were contradicted or rejected in any way, they just as easily felt offended and criticized. It was then that the metamorphosis took place, and they revealed their true nature. Gone was the suave behavior, to be replaced by hurtful and downright vicious treatment. They iced out the person that so rudely dared to refute them. They cold-shouldered them and spat nasty words that aimed where it hurt the most: the heart.

They also played the guilt-tripping, manipulative game exceptionally well.

Narcissists often obsessed over their partners in a most unhealthy way, exhibited a fanatic control over the other. They simply couldn’t understand that their significant other might want to spent time outside their relationship too, might want to plunge into activities that didn’t involve them. It was a foreign concept to them, one that they couldn’t acclimate themselves with. As a result, they procured the most scurrile and illogical conspiracy theories, developed a fierce unfounded jealousy and possessiveness of their beloved one. Every time they wanted to spend a minute without the narcissist ended in tiring futile arguments where the partner’s devotion was being questioned. And it was often followed by days of not talking. Up until the partner came crawling back, apologizing without knowing what they even apologized for, begging for forgiveness even though they did nothing that needed to be forgiven, assuring that they would do better next time even though they didn’t know what ‘better’ was because they had no idea what they had done wrong in the first place. All that to see that charismatic personality that once lured them in and promised them the world.

It was in all sense of the word a form of abuse. The kind that was so distinct for someone with a narcistic personality disorder, yet so subtle that those looking in from the outside and sometimes even those closest to them didn’t notice.

Along with that exploitation came the notable disregard of every emotion someone felt, displayed or verbalized. Narcissists didn’t see other people as human beings, as creatures with a heart and feelings, beliefs and values, needs and desires. Instead, they often objectified them. Those around them were merely marionettes. They made them their puppets on a string, and they would sever the threads used to pull them in whichever way they pleased, if the doll didn’t bend into their submission. People were only ever of value for as long as they followed around blindly. Narcissists didn’t bother with people who second-guessed or doubted them in any way, who couldn’t see their specialness, their brilliance, their superiority. If they couldn’t enchant someone, they cut them out of their lives; it was as simple as that.

What was probably one of the most debilitating factors of living with a narcissist, was their absence of empathy towards others. People with a narcistic personality disorder were considerably out of touch with their own feelings and were therefore unable to express them. It most likely stemmed from a childhood where they themselves hadn’t received the love and attention from their parents that they always craved for. Frankly, it wasn’t even their fault that they were lacking compassion; they probably hadn’t learnt any different. So basically, their behavior in the present was a way of trying to make up for what they had missed out on in their own upbringing. The shortage of parental affection resulted in them never being able to deal with and make sense of their own emotions, which ultimately rendered them incapable of sympathizing or so much as acknowledging those of others.

If it weren’t for the trail of psychological destruction a narcissist left in their wake, one could almost pity them for the pain they had most likely gone through. Maybe that’s why their partners stuck around despite the harassment and torture they had to endure. It was undeniably hard to be around a narcissist all the time, but as sad and heartbreaking as it was to watch for an observant bystander, if the significant other wanted to stay that was their choice.

However, it wasn’t that of a potentially involved child – or multiple of them for that matter. They were innocent victims in all of this, and they weren’t given the opportunity to escape the clutches of narcissism. They didn’t even stand a chance. Growing up with a narcistic parent could shape and scar a child in unimaginable ways and cast a shadow over them that persisted into adulthood, likely to remain a constant companion all their life. The experiences, the memories were an invisible claw holding an arbitrary power over every aspect of their existence. A seed planted in those earliest years when children still idolized their parents above all. They didn’t understand this concept of narcissism. They believed in the good and fascinating things about mom and dad only – and come to think of it, everything about them seemed good and fascinating from the eyes of a toddler and maybe even those of a grade schooler.

Kids didn’t have a reason to doubt anything their parents said or did. Why would they? How could they? And really, who could blame them? They simply didn’t know any better. Children were naïve and trusting, just the way they were supposed to be. They yearned for the unconditional love of their parents and in return they rewarded their folks with that same infinite love and loyalty.

Sadly, it was that absolution of love that narcistic parents could so cruelly take advantage of. An unbiased child was the perfect prey to feed on their hunger for adoration and validation. It gave the narcissist the grand opening to swank their bombast. The best way to achieve this, was by teaching them only the things that they excelled in and enjoyed, by pushing them in the exact direction that they felt was right for their kid, leaving no room or acceptance for anything else. So, in all honesty it only suited them. And in all their gullibility the offspring became the ideal little soldier because they learned early on that marching behind their drill sergeant and executing his commands was the way to receive the desired attention from him.

That wasn’t to say that they didn’t relish the activities and the time spent with their narcistic mother or father – they probably did. They were however unaware that this was merely a ploy to lure them in. And quite frankly, they didn’t care until much later in life when realization suddenly hit them, and when they ended up questioning everything.

As soon as a child discovered their own interests and diverged from the plans that the narcistic parent laid out for them, things were bound to become trickier, more challenging. Because once they reached a certain age, they started looking outside their little bubble and developed their own beliefs and moral compasses. Those of their parents were put under a microscope and ended up quizzed in an oftentimes provocative manner. When puberty rolled around, kids quickly learnt that their folks were not perfect but in fact just as flawed as everyone else. It was this recognition of faultiness that slowly fissured and disbanded a possibly once tight bond between a narcistic parent and their child. The moment a teenager opposed the narcissist, they ended up facing their wrath. It marked the beginning of a rocky road into adulthood. One that was tarred with insecurity and the constant feeling of not measuring up, of not being good enough.

Jay couldn’t tell when those first cracks in the relationship with his father had appeared. While he had a few happy memories with him, they had never had the best rapport. Looking back, he could easily see the narcistic traits in the old man’s everyday behavior. He could isolate singular incidents in his elementary school days and countless events in his juvenile years, though the latter blurred into one giant mass of messes because there were just so many of them in that time. From a distance he could tell just how his dad’s narcissism had slowly damaged his self-esteem and planted a chronic diffidence and self-reproach within him that hadn’t ceased much in the four years away from home.

His father’s personality had had enough of an impact on him that it had followed him all the way to a war he was fighting halfway across the world. And that influence hadn’t lessened one bit. Or maybe it had. But with his mom gone and him once again living under the same roof as his dad, this time just the two of them, the lack of confidence had come back with a vengeance. Being stuck with the man who had nearly broken his spirit years ago, especially now, when he was in a limbo of uncertainty, wedged in between mourning his mother and worrying about his future, he had all the time in the world to reflect on the spectrum of narcissism in his dad’s behavior. It was both reassuring and nerve-wrecking to finally understand what had shaped him into who he was today.

The trip down memory lane brought Jay all the way back to his earliest childhood. He remembered the way Patrick used to brag about both Will and his aptitude for sports and learning instruments. He generally used to brag about anything they successfully tried their hands in really. But it had only ever been done when people were around to be impressed by it, and it surely hadn’t been done to encourage his sons. The old man had merely wanted to adorn himself with borrowed plumes in front of others, never in the privacy of their home and he’d certainly never praised either of his boys directly. Instead, he saw them merely as an appendix of himself that he could boast about to make himself feel better.

Halstead senior had never much cared about what his sons wanted. Their musical prowess was tolerated only because it affiliated with their Irish heritage and because it was something that Sadhbh had loved. Other than that, everything they’d been allowed to do was done solely for the patriarch’s benefit. He’d pushed them hard into sports, more specifically baseball, because it was his passion. And while Will and Jay were athletic and skilled enough to play in Little League, it wasn’t their preference. Pat hadn’t cared that his oldest had shown more interest in hockey or that his youngest had wanted to try out for basketball instead. Their wishes had constantly been disregarded, invalidated with surface level reasoning: Will was too soft for the brutal game on ice, and Jay was too small and scrawny to ever be any good at shooting hoops. And while their mother had persuaded her husband into at least letting them try, the things the old man didn’t approve of had been the first to be eliminated from afterschool activities once money got tight. Which conveniently had been all the time.

Jay’ dad had only ever showed interest and offered support when he got something out of it for himself, certainly not to demonstrate love and affection towards his offspring. Will had eventually given up pushing, deeming it a waste of energy. He had just gone with the flow, submitted himself to baseball and whatever else their father wanted. The only time he had fought the old man tooth and nails for something had been his decision to pursue a career in medicine. He’d wisely applied to and deliberately chosen a school far away from home so that Patrick wouldn’t be able to sabotage his future. Jay on the other hand hadn’t been so subservient in his youth. He’d questioned his dad frequently, stood his ground against him and always stayed true to his firm beliefs. But in all of this, to avoid escalation, he too had tried to appease to his father’s expectations.

A futile task. Senior’s expectations had oftentimes been unrealistic and sheer impossible to fulfill. Neither Will nor Jay had ever been able to measure up to them. No number of homeruns had ever been satisfying enough. The older Halstead had always compelled them to accomplish more. According to him, ever game lost was the result of his sons not giving it their all: their technique had lacked when swinging their bat, they should’ve catapulted the ball just a couple feet further, or they hadn’t run fast enough to bring their team to victory.

The same ridiculously high metrics had applied to their scholastics. No amount of straight A report cards had ever been good enough either. Just one tiny horizontal line behind the letter had been enough to infuriate Patrick and have him unleash a hail of colorful insults on their intelligence or lack thereof. Just one B had been enough for him to yell at his sons that they would never amount to anything in life. The irony in that? He hadn’t even wanted them to go to college, because real men went to work right after school. Both Halstead boys had been smart, but they had also just been kids who had wanted to enjoy themselves occasionally. Nevertheless, their father’s anger was a truly scary thing, so the boys had studied relentlessly and tried their hardest to stay on top of their classes, if only to avoid that frightening wrath at all costs.

It had been a blessing that at least Patrick had never really been a violent guy. Or maybe it hadn’t been a blessing after all. His vindictive words had always cut to the bone and they had hurt just as much as a fist connecting with the tender skin of an eight-year-old. The only reason Jay could compare the verbal abuse to the physical maltreatment was because he, unlike Will, had been the recipient of his father’s uncontrolled rage once. The reason for that nothing as mundane as poor academic performance or a strikeout in an important game but a series of rather untimely events and deficient decision making on Thanksgiving 1994. Sadhbh had put an effective halt to her husband ever laying a hand on either of their children ever again, so the youngest Halstead had no way of knowing if this could have become a regular thing. Frankly, he really didn’t want to know. The memory of that day was etched into his mind forever with or without the underlying threat of it happening again.

Jay wasn’t afraid of being beaten. Not anymore. He’d seen some of the most ferocious places on earth, some of the worst humans – if you could call them that – had to offer. That alone had numbed him to the blows. He’d survived physical violence, torture, bullet wounds, ambushes, hell even IED attacks. A couple fists thrown by someone with a physique that was mediocre at best didn’t scare him any longer. Much rather it was the combination of the hits and the verbal barrage, the psychological minefield of it all.

Essentially, dealing with a narcissist was no different than navigating the Afghan desert with landmines scattered everywhere. He’d had to be on high alert nonstop overseas, had had to carefully contemplate every step he took to dodge those invisible death traps. It was the same with the nemesis dubbed narcissism, especially when that enemy was flooded with emotions that they couldn’t comprehend. With grief involved, there were way more explosive devices hidden beneath the sand ready to go off at the most infinitesimal quakes. Maybe that was why from the very first day of military training Jay had been so adept at tactical support and strategical planning: he’d had plenty of practice throughout his adolescence. Tiptoeing around and walking on eggshells to sidestep the triggers of an outburst was basically second nature to him.

However, he was no longer a child. He was an adult, currently living in the same house as his father, and in order to survive seeing him every day, he needed to dismantle some of those snares. He needed to set necessary boundaries and secure a safe place he could retreat to. The question was: how?

Amidst cleaning up the remnants of his meager dinner – scrambled eggs and a slice of bread because even ten days after his mother’s passing, he had yet to regain an appetite – Jay tried to find a solution to that. But before the ranger could come up with a plan, he was pulled from his thoughts by the trampling footsteps on the front porch. The noise echoed loudly through the hallway all the way into the kitchen. Someone crashed hard into the wooden door, the clinking of metal against metal followed. The muffled thumbs and jingles were familiar by now; the same sad repeat every single night since he had come home from the hospital. It would go on for another minute. There would be a few frustrated curses and a fist hitting the frame. And eventually, he’d hear the telltale scratch as the key was inserted into the tiny slot.

Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, the brunette shuffled to the doorway segregating the kitchen from the hall. He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for the fanfare of the lock opening with a finalizing click.

The door swung open and, as predicted, Patrick stumbled through the entrance moments later. His movements were ungraceful, and his body tilted from one side to the other like a dinghy out in the open sea, a clear indicator that he was as drunk as a fiddler’s bitch. A cigarette was hanging from the corner of his mouth, ash particles falling from it only to be reignited as oxygen fed to them. Jay watched as the orange glowing specks descended to the burgundy rug and burned tiny black holes into the material. When he raised his eyes again, his sloshed dad was in the process of shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it carelessly in the general direction of the coat hanger. He missed it by a foot, a remarkable feat considering how small the area was.

Jay cringed; his obsessive-compulsive tendencies gained in the rangers immediately triggered by the tardiness. He refrained from saying anything, biting the insides of his cheeks hard. Patrick caught his grimace and apparently felt threatened by his presence. “What’cha looking at?” he slurred as he staggered towards his son, the ferocity in his eyes dulled by all the booze he’d consumed. The younger man pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and merely shook his head in response, but his non-verbal reaction didn’t satisfy his dad. “Speak up when I talk to you,” he demanded.

There was no point starting a fight over this, especially not in the state the older Halstead was in, so the brunette offered a simple, “nothing.” He tried his best to keep his voice steady but despite his best efforts he sounded like a submissive, not at all like the Army sergeant that he was. He hated it. Hated that his father still held such a power over him and could fill him with dread so easily.

Pulling himself to his full five foot ten, Jay braced himself for an impending argument. But the older man merely grunted indifferently and pushed passed him on the narrow threshold in the kitchen, bumping into the younger man’s shoulder as he swayed on his feet. The brunette went with the momentum to lessen the blow. Pressing his back against the door frame, he followed his father with weary eyes as the older went straight for the refrigerator. His intentions were predictable, and as soon as Patrick held the beer bottle in his hand, the ranger made his calculated move. “I think you’ve already had enough, dad,” he pointed out, voice soft and unthreatening. He took the alcohol from the other, stowed it away and unobtrusively put himself in between the cooler and his father.

Visibly seethed, the older man immediately jibed at his son, “I don’t care what you think. Thinking’s never been one of your strong suits, has it?” He laughed icily. “This is my house. And in my house, I can drink as much as I want whenever I want to,” he continued to bristle through clenched teeth, cig moving up and down as he spoke. “So, get out of my way, you little punk.”

But Jay kept a stiff upper lip. “No,” he said firmly, dug his heels into the tiles and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It riled the other man up even more. Puffing out an angry breath, the patriarch propelled a lungful of smoke and ash at the unsuspecting ranger. The younger Halstead wasn’t prepared and ended up consuming a good amount of the smolder with his breath. Flakes tickled the back of his throat, sending him into a dry coughing fit. He tasted bile, the Godawful acrid taste provoking his gag reflex, but managed to swallow it down. The whole ordeal left him gasping for breath and made his eyes water, though, and for a second he felt like he was all the way back in the burning remnants of the Humvee in Korengal.

Ironically, it was Patrick’s sneer that pulled him out of his impromptu flashback. “Serves you right.” Through his blurry eyes, Jay caught him dragging on his roll-up and staggering towards one of the kitchen cabinets across the room. He rummaged through the cupboard, shuffled cans and containers until his hand closed around a three-quarters empty bottle of cheap whiskey stored in the back. The ranger could only watch as the other man unscrewed the cap, pulled the cigarette from his mouth and took a long swig.

The indulgence was contemporary, though, because as soon as his son recovered, he was by his side and quite determinedly pried the booze from his fingers. A few droplets of the amber liquid sloshed out of the tilted flask, spilling onto Pat’s grey polo as the bottle neck was pulled straight from his lips. The younger man couldn’t care less. “I said you had enough,” he reinforced his earlier statement, voice raspier yet that much more forceful than before. “And since when do you smoke anyway?” he added as an afterthought, angrily plugging the nearly burnt-down stub from his father’s sluggish fingers. He ground it out in the sink and recapped the whiskey with shaking hands, the scarily intimate encounter with the bitter fumes fueling his actions.

“None of your damn business,” Patrick snarled at him as he scrunched up his nose. “Now give me the damn bottle.” He lunged at Jay to fetch the scotch from his son’s hands, but the younger man sidestepped, causing the intoxicated man to lose his balance. If it hadn’t been for the ranger’s lickety-split reflexes, Halstead senior would have faceplanted on the unforgiving tiles of the kitchen floor. Instead, his dive was thwarted by his son’s strong arm, who in a matter of milliseconds discarded the flask on the kitchen counter to catch the flailing inebriate. Weakened muscles of his left arm flexed and trembled under the sudden stress, so Jay firmly wrapped the right around his father’s midsection too.

It made for an awkward pseudo-embrace, the proximity extremely uncomfortable for both men, but the brunette refused to let go so long as the other wasn’t steady on his feet. “Let go of me, you little bastard,” the old man growled as he struggled against the tight hold his son had on him, though he stood no chance against the trained Army Ranger.

Jay couldn’t help but chuckle as he realized his father’s faulty use of the word. Driven by the adrenaline, he felt brave enough to call him out on it. “You should really do your homework before you throw insults like that at me, dad,” he advised, unable to hold back the smug grin. “Because if you had you’d know that I’m not a bastard, not even by a long shot.” He barked an amused laugh. “Even if I were, the insult would fall right back on you.”

As soon as the words were out, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut. The fury was written all over his father’s face, the old man clearly outraged by the fact that his son dared to correct him. The drunkard temporarily stilled in the ranger’s arms and Jay waited for a volley of expletives to be hurled his way. He didn’t, however, expect a physical onslaught. So, when Halstead senior buckled against his grip and flung himself sideways, the older man had the element of surprise on his side. He broke free from the younger man’s interlocked arms, fist swinging. The left hook didn’t land anywhere near where his dad wanted it to, but it was enough to throw them both off-balance. They landed in a heap on the floor, and Jay couldn’t squelch the yelp as his left knee of all things took the brunt of the tumble.

For once, the ranger was thankful for the padded brace he was still forced to wear. The gooey substance embedded in the material cushioned the fall enough to prevent what would otherwise have been a harrowing acquaintance of his kneecap with the unforgiving stone slabs. Nevertheless, the unexpected twist and strain was enough to shoot a brief searing pain through his leg was enough to shoot a searing pain through his leg. It was somewhat masked by adrenaline and his last dose of pain meds still in his system, but the brunette would have been a fool to think that the tumble wouldn’t have consequences. Tendons and ligaments were still unstable, muscles too weak to protect the joint enough from blunt force. Even a minor plummet like this had the power to cause a setback.

But Jay couldn’t think about that now. There were more pressing matters at hand. He allowed himself all but a small reprieve, resting his forehead on a balled fist and squeezed his eyes shut for no more than a handful of seconds, waiting for the pain to abate to a dull ache. Once he felt safe to move again, he scrambled over to the kitchen unit, desperate to put some distance between him and his father. Using the sturdy ledge of the counter for leverage, he pulled himself onto wobbly feet and leaned heavily against the furniture.

Eventually, the brunette hunched over a bit, braced his arms on his thighs while gaging his surroundings, all the while favoring his knee. His dad was still on the floor, muttering a disgruntled “damnit” as he listlessly tried to get his limbs under him. He failed miserably, partially because one hand grabbed his head the entire time. Senior must have hit it on his way down. Though Jay hadn’t been the one to cause the altercation, he was immediately swarmed by apprehension and misplaced guilt at the prospect that his father had gotten hurt. Experience told him that the old man too would blame him. In a way he was right: he had started the argument after all.

Anxiety eventually spurred him into action. “Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, slowly approaching the older Halstead, one hand stretched out and held up in front of him placatively. The other huffed in response. “Let me see,” Jay asked calmly while his heart thumped like mad. He half-squatted down next to his dad, mindful of his throbbing knee, and gently pulled the coarse fingers away, checking for a possible injury. A tiny trail of blood seeped from a wound that barely even qualified as a scratch, but a bump was already forming.

Before he had a chance to inspect it any closer, his father angrily slapped him away. “Get your hands off me,” he growled, and Jay instinctively took a step back to avoid the clumsily flapping arms, weary of being caught off-guard again, only advancing once more when his arms flopped to his side, alluding to Pat’s seeming defeat. But as soon as he reached out, senior swatted at him again. The younger man anticipated it, therefore firmly grabbed his wrists, glad that high levels of alcohol and the knock to the head had shot the other’s coordination to hell.

“Are you done? Are you done fighting me now?” Jay checked carefully, breathlessly, when the older Halstead’s arms flopped to the side. His father sneered, nostrils flaring in disgust, but other than that he remained still. “I take that as a yes,” he mumbled under his breath, releasing the hold on his dad. Standing up with a wince, he extended a hand to. To his surprise, he took it without reluctance and, with the help of the ranger, hauled himself to his feet. Once vertical, he swayed dangerously. The brunette propped him up against the counter for much needed support, holding onto his arm with one arm until he was sure the other wouldn’t keel over. For a minute, they stood side by side, one holding his pounding head, the other flexing his pulsing knee.

Not trusting the momentary peace, Jay observed the older man. The lines of defiance had smoothed over a bit, leaving a disgruntled and disoriented look of someone who had taken a cup too much but lacked the energy to fight the bartender for yet another drink. It was the calmest he’d seen his father all night, probably all week. He didn’t want to disturb the ceasefire but at the same time this might be the only chance he had to talk some sense into Patrick. Despite his better judgement not to, he wet his lips nervously and gathered all his courage. Even if he failed, he at least failed knowing he had tried.

“Listen dad,” he started nervously. “I don’t know how long this has been going on… Drinking yourself into a stupor every night, smoking,” he trailed off, taking in a shaky breath. “I, I know you loved mom,” he nearly choked when he mentioned her, the grief too fresh, too painful to really talk about her. His breath hitched but he forced down the lump that clogged his throat. Now was not the right time. “I know you’re grieving…”

This time it was his father interrupting. Fury blazed in his eyes as he roared, “like hell you do!” A shudder rippled through Jay as the patriarch’s voice reverberated from the walls, and an undesirable feeling of dread percolated. A dread he had felt so often when in a quarrel with his old man but also countless times in combat, recognized it as the premonition of losing a battle that was never his to win to begin with. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. “How dare you?” Patrick spat in disgust. “How dare you mention her, when this is all your fault in the first place?” he bellowed, raising his volume even more.

Jay’s eyes snapped open. “My faul-… what?” He gaped at Halstead senior; utter disbelief written all over his face. Of all the things he had expected his father to blame him for, this was the one accusation he had hoped not to hear him say out loud. Blinking rapidly against the tears pricking behind his eyes, he tried to get a handle on his emotions, unwilling to make himself even more vulnerable to the other man’s slander. As much as the words pained him, he wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. “You, drowning your sorrows in a bottle is my fault how exactly?” The brunette was faintly aware of the pronounced quiver in his tone and that it was at least an octave higher than usual, adding a desperation that he hoped wouldn’t be so apparent. “How,” his voice cracked as he continued in a shaky whisper, “how is mom dying my fault?”

A sharp, humorless laugh came from Patrick’s mouth, echoing in a malicious canon that cut straight to the core and made Jay cringe. “You know damn well how,” his father thundered. “She worried herself sick over you, you ungrateful brat. All because you decided to play war. She wasted all her energy on you instead of fighting for herself,” he laid into his son, ripping the wound open even more. “You’re the reason she died. You and your selfish pipe dreams.”

What little fight Jay had left, disappeared upon hearing those words. He flinched hard, his heart constricting painfully, so painful that he feared his was either having a heart attack or a knife plunged into the large muscle. “Dad?” he wheezed out. Dizziness washed over him as all air was sucked from his lungs. Panic rose within him. The kitchen counter became his life line as he held onto it with a white-knuckled grip. The accusation repeated over and over in the youngest Halstead’s head as he desperately forced himself to take steadying breaths.

His father was drunk, he reminded himself. It was just the alcohol and the grief talking, not the man himself. By repeating that like a mantra, Jay hoped to convince himself. His dad didn’t know what he was saying. He was just intoxicated. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true, and they merely resonated what he himself had been thinking ever since he had left for his first deployment. That he was killing her, had killed her, albeit slowly, by putting that weight of worry on her shoulders. Deep down, he had already known that his dad held him responsible for his mother’s passing as well, but there had been this naïve sliver of hope that maybe he didn’t. Now that hope was crushed too, and the youngest Halstead wondered if there was anything left for him to cling to, a piece of driftwood to keep him afloat in the rapid current.

Nevertheless, he held onto that one clear thought, “you’re drunk, dad,” swallowed past the ever-growing lump in his throat and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head, as he brushed the overwhelming emotions aside and forced his face into an impassive mask. “You don’t mean what you said,” he rationalized, his voice toneless. “C’mon,” he urged softly when Patrick swayed on his feet again. He slung senior’s arm around his neck and steered him towards the hallway, gently suggesting, “let’s get you to bed,” whilst guiding him up the stairs.

Despair reached impossible heights underneath the surface as the old man cried out, “she’s dead, she’s dead because of you,” but on the outside Jay remained frighteningly calm. “It’s all your fault. You killed her,” the patriarch hauled the spiteful words at him, but the youngest remained silent, took every single one of them and let it feed his immense guilt. Patrick trashed weakly against his son’s hold as they ascended the last steps, his feeble attempts almost bringing making them crumple, but the ranger stood steady.

“Almost there, dad,” he coaxed him the rest of the way, hoisting the man’s legs onto the mattress once he’d stripped him of his shoes. He reached for the blanket, hesitated as his eyes fell on the ornamented light grey and green sheets that his mother had sown. With an aching heart he covered his near passed out parent with it, fingered the soft flannel as he tugged his father in ever so gently, his resolve almost breaking. “Get some sleep dad,” he whispered to the already snoring man, tears welling up in his eyes. He tore his gaze away, stumbled into the adjacent bathroom, grabbing a glass of water and two tablets of Advil from the cabinet to aid the head-splitting hangover senior was sure to be sporting the next morning. It was the least he could do.

Leaving them on the bedside table, he closed the door and migrated to his own bedroom. Jay plopped down on the edge of his bed, physically and mentally depleted from the harrowing events of the last hour. His knee pulsated in sync with his heavy heartbeat, a painful reminder of everything that had just transpired. Rolling up his sweatpants legs and removing the knee brace, he assessed the renewed damage to the joint. The tissue was already swollen and sensitive touch, making it hard to flex and bend the extremity all the way. He’d elevate it overnight and check again in the morning, but he already knew that this would necessitate a check-up with Dr. Oakes, a visit he dreaded as it would be the first time, he’d set foot in the Godawful place since his mother had died.

Jay’s breath hitched, the imputation of his father’s blame replaying in his head. His dad most likely wouldn’t remember their conversation the following morning, but he undeniably would. He was entangled in the faulty spinning web of doubt of self-blame, unable to pull himself free from the sticky threads. Soon to be cocooned by the black widow watching and waiting for the perfect moment to ambush him from the corner of the room. A suitable analogy for the fucked-up reality the ranger found himself living in ever since he’d come home, though if he were completely honest with himself, the web had been spun a long, long time ago, and he might not ever have a chance of escaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for what was probably the hardest chapter I have ever written up to this point. I kind of feel relieved now.
> 
> Updates will be less frequent from now on since there are no more pre-written chapters at the moment but I hope to at least give you a new installment every other week or so. I hope you'll wait around and continue this journey with me anyway. I hope to God that you stick around because you guys are amazing!
> 
> Take care, and as always: stay healthy!


	13. Haunted for A While Now, A Revenant Thought, Did I Let You Down?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instinct told him that Jay wasn’t as okay with this as he let on, the voice of reason angrily yelling at him that he’d convey the same message he had a decade prior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my faithful readers and awesome continuous reviewers. I love you, you keep me sane in those dark times. 
> 
> Set in 2018, Jay gets his injuries from the shoot-out checked on. Lots of angst, some brotherly comfort, maybe? I suppose, you'll have to read it to find out. This was a chore to write, so this might not live up to expectations.
> 
> Title taken from Bukahara 'The Vulture And The Boy'.

Richard Nixon, the 37th President of the United States, was known to have nosocomephobia, the fear of hospitals.

In 1974, he had rejected treatment for a blood clot, profoundly convinced that, “if I go to a hospital, I’m fairly sure I won’t come out alive.” Like any other phobia, it was irrational considering that clinics first and foremost were meant to be places of healing. Illogical or not, it didn’t make it any less real for those suffering from this fear. If put in a situation where a phobic had to confront their most extreme horrors, they experienced it with all their body and mind. Their heart rate increased, and their breathing became rapid and shallow as they obsessively worried about what they were about to face. There was also the expulsion of various kinds of bodily fluids. Some were sweating bullets, others had the runs, or they felt nauseous to the point of tossing their cookies. While all the above was merely a physical manifestation of their fear, the rather graphic depiction was depressingly accurate as to how repellent a phobic felt towards whatever induced their uncontrollable anxiety.

Nosocomephobia, while an independent branch, often served as an umbrella term for different kinds of fears surrounding the medical field. Whether they were afraid of germs, needles, doctors, blood or death, all those individual phobias were classified as subcategories. Even the commonly known claustrophobia marked one of them, so did hypochondriasis. Each of the listed fears could occur solitarily, but sometimes a couple of them clustered or were the stepping stone for developing nosocomephobia. A domino effect, that was best explained by taking the example of trypanophobia, the fear of needles: the thin, pointy objects were associated with doctors, so naturally a subsequent weariness of whitecoats easily morphed into a full blown iatrophobia, and since hospitals were swarmed with them, a fear of those was almost a given.

The reasons for intense terror were vast and they almost always had their roots in one or several traumatizing events in the past. For nosocomephobia it was usually an unpleasant experience in or related to hospital grounds. Having been under medical care for a longer period as a child or maybe having watched a sick relative whose illness required frequent visits for medical care. The acquired memories burned themselves in a person’s mind and had the potential to grow into a full-blown phobia somewhere down the road, especially if the trauma wasn’t ever fully processed. Thus, a hospital might be a place forever linked to the feeling of physical and mental pain and suffering as well as the loss of power. As not to confront those unwelcome sensations, the most sensible approach was to avoid those horror houses at all costs.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t always easy to abide by that. Especially not when you were a cop in a metropolis with high incidents of crime. Fighting for justice in Chicago was beyond dangerous and it came with a certain accident proneness. More so when working in an elite specialized unit that dealt with some of the cruelest cases and criminals the city harbored and was fiercely aggressive and reckless in the pursuit of offenders.

Jay detected a certain irony in the fact that he of all people had picked a profession that regularly landed him in one of the places he loathed most on earth. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he hated hospitals with a passion, and he had more than enough reasons for it, too. Most people he knew speculated that his strong dislike stemmed from bad experiences and poor medical care overseas. Having to spend two months recuperating from grave injuries in a medical center halfway across the world far away from the comforts of home was bound to accrue a certain aversion to clinics. It was without a doubt a plausible assumption, a perfect cover if you will, so the former ranger didn’t bother correct anyone who dared to psychoanalyze him. However, less than a handful of people knew it wasn’t the real reason, and none of those people were clued in on all the facts surrounding his fear. Not even Mouse.

It had all started on Thanksgiving 1994, when his own stupidity had not just incurred the most terrifying wrath his father had ever unleashed but had also landed him in the emergency room. The way the old man had laid into his already injured tiny eight-year-old frame had inevitably settled all previous doubts about him needing medical care. And while the hospital visit itself hadn’t scared him too much, the circumstances leading up to it had. Jay had suppressed most of the incident since, and if he was being honest to himself, it might have been one of the rare instances where being in the ED had made him feel safe and protected.

More prominent and most definitely laced with a negative connotation was one day just a week short of his sixteenth birthday. Marked as the day when it all officially started going south for the Halsteads, he’d never forget the moment when he had been sitting next to his mother in an office of the oncology ward as her doctor diagnosed her with chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Just like he’d never forget the months that followed: numerous afternoons distracting her as poisonous liquid dripped into her system via an intravenous line, even longer nights of rubbing soothing circles on her back and holding a bucket for her whilst she coughed up every droplet of stomach contents and bile. He sure as hell would never forget those excruciating months leading up to her death. Those were the predominant images that invaded his mind every time he set foot in a hospital, most prevalent in the very place where his mom had lost her fight ten years ago.

There was a reason why he kept a signed document in his wallet, stating that under no circumstance did he want to be shipped to Mercy Hospital and Medical Center in case of an emergency, not even in the direst situations where his life was on the line. He’d rather die than face this nightmarish hellhole again.

As much as hospitals terrified Jay, after nine years working as a Chicago Police Officer he had learned to cope with his phobia. Sometimes he felt something akin to pride for his ability to conceal any outward signs of an impending panic when he needed urgent medical care. With the regular trips to Chicago Med for injuries, witness statements, protection details or mere visits of his older brother, it was imperative that he had enough self-control to successfully block out the triggers. He mastered the art of hiding the fine tremor running through his hands and slowing down his breathing. He wasn’t as good at hiding his restlessness, but people knew him for his constant need to be actively doing something, so it wasn’t hard to explain that. And if he were sweating a bit more than usual or needed more frequent bathroom breaks, well, he could easily blame it on spicy Chinese.

He covered well and his friends and coworkers usually were none the wiser. But the fear always lurked in the background, and some days it was harder to repress the physical presentation of his abhorrence.

Today was undeniably one of those days. Brought on by utter exhaustion, a bone-deep fatigue that he hadn’t felt in almost a decade. Jay felt drained, physically and mentally, and his chronic lack of sleep wasn’t helping matters at all. Despite his prayers to a God, he didn’t believe in anymore, the presence of his older brother in the next room the previous night hadn’t blessed him with the peaceful rest he so desperately desired. He had gotten the sporadic catnap here and there, even drifted off into a full two and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep sometime in the primeval hours of the morning. But most of the night his mind had been invaded with grotesque tessellations of random snippets leading up to his parents’ respective deaths. And if that wasn’t enough, his brain had added a good amount of torturing guilt over keeping Will away from Natalie into the mix.

Jay was certain that the redhead would much rather have spent the night in the comforting arms of his fiancée, not on the lumpy leather couch in the detective’s lousy living room. Probably even more so now that he was under the impression that his sibling had spent the night in a blissful slumber. It couldn’t have been further from the truth, but the brunette didn’t have it in him to rob the ginger of the illusion. Yet, he felt incredibly selfish for asking the older Halstead to stay with his needy little brother.

Initially, he’d been relieved that Will had agreed to crash with him. However, that spark of joy had quickly been replaced by regret that just like ten years ago he’d allowed himself to put his pure vested interests before his brother’s. He might not have said anything so far, but sooner or later he would lose his patience and deliver a well-deserved wake-up call by reminding him that he was not the only one grieving. Jay would take it in stride. The loneliness, his constant companion, was only a result of his continuous destitution after all. It was his punishment for failing to be a good and grateful son and for being such a pain in the ass brother for all his thirty-two years. He deserved this.

A burning pain settled in his chest that had nothing to do with the vivid contusion on his torso and everything to do with the undesirable self-deprecating inclinations washing over him. He rarely let himself be absorbed in his self-pity and misery anymore, usually had a better handle on his underlying depression. Blaming his emotionality on the insomnia he rubbed his tired eyes. Suddenly, sitting upright on the edge of a hospital bed was too much of an effort. The weight of it all pulled at every fiber of his being. Heaving a shaky sigh, he gave in to the exhaustion and leaned back against the synthetic pillow. He didn’t have to look to know that Will’s hazel eyes followed his every move, piercing and maybe a little bit worried too. Jay knew why, had seen his own betraying reflection earlier, the only specks of color in his chalky complexion the racoon eyes and the feverish glow to his cheeks.

Of course, his brother had noticed too, though he was probably mostly hung up on the latter. It was surprising that the ginger hadn’t yet jumped into full doctor mode. The younger Halstead almost wished he had. Instead, he was subjected to silent ogling that left too much space for his insecurities to flourish. The intermittent profound exhales coming from his right grated on his nerves, and when Will let out a particularly lengthy puff of air, he found himself unable to keep his irritation quiet any longer. “What?” he snapped and threw an exasperated sideways glance at his older sibling, his lips parted enough to bare his front teeth. The other man blinked at him and creased his eyebrows in confusion, not expecting the sudden ebullition. Jay couldn’t help but roll his eyes and shake his head. “You clearly want to say something, so spit it out already,” the brunette challenged.

Will flashed his lashes once more, dumbfounded by the bluntness. “I… don’t?” he staccato-ed, bewilderment painted all over his face. The detective tilted his head and arched his eyebrows, the right a tad higher than the left, creating uneven creases on his forehead. The corners of his mouth were pulled down. It took no more than a second for the redhead to recognize it as his younger brother’s telltale expression mix of annoyance, incredulity and determination. Hunching forward, the doctor propped his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped, and eyes raised to meet the brunette’s. “I’m just worried about you, man,” he confessed with a heavy sigh.

Jay hoped as much. Nevertheless, hearing the words made him uneasy, so he averted his eyes and fiddled with the zipper of his black hoodie for a moment before folding his hands in front of his abdomen, mindful of the bullet wound in his left side. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he brushed the older Halstead off. He stared at the white overhead lights just long enough for them to burn his retinas and create dancing colorful spots in his vision. Squeezing his eyes against the brightness, he added an offhanded, “I’m fine, Will.”

“I don’t believe you,” the doctor huffed. “Not even a little bit, because you look anything but fine, Jay.” The man in question snorted at that but didn’t say anything in return which fed to the ginger’s frustration. “C’mon, man. I’m a doctor. I also happen to be your brother who has known you all your life. Do you really think you can fool me of all people into believing that you’re okay?” In bitter irony, he contradicted his words as he failed to notice the flash of sadness and disappointment on the detective’s features. Irony that wasn’t lost on the younger man.

Casting his eyes down, Jay started fidgeting with the zipper once more. “Always a doctor first and a brother second,” he muttered under his breath, his observation barely more than a whisper. But as soon as the defeated realization left his mouth, he regretted loosening his tongue and ardently prayed that his big brother hadn’t caught what he had just let slip. It appeared he hadn’t because moments later Will asked him to come again. Cautiously relieved, the younger man shook his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. It wasn’t nothing. Yet, repeating his resentment would only end in the other denying their veracity and Jay wasn’t sure his fragile mind could take that right now. Besides, how was he supposed to explain to the redhead that he had always felt like he came second to his brother’s career? “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he reiterated, not in the mood to start an argument, knowing one would undeniably ensue if he voiced his insecurities.

“I hear those words from you every time you come into the ED as a patient. I’m still waiting for the day they are true,” a new voice sounded from the doorway, speaking with sobriety, though the subsequent chuckle took the sting out of them. Both Halsteads startled and turned towards the raven-haired doctor standing on the threshold with a mischievous expression on his face. “Good morning, Jay,” Dr. Choi greeted his patient, then acknowledged his coworker, “Will,” earning himself a nod and a tight-lipped smile from the redhead. “How are you two holding up?” he inquired in an unobtrusive manner, eyes narrowed to slits. The mischief made way for empathy as he addressed the brother’s loss of their father.

Grumbling a ‘morning’ in return, Jay forewent a verbal answer and merely shrugged one shoulder. Usually, he would brush it off with one of his quick-witted ‘I’m fine’s, but since Ethan had already inadvertently eavesdropped on his stock response, there really was no point. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and waited for his older sibling to take the reins instead, knowing that the older was itching to present his ailments on a silver platter. This was his turf after all. Will didn’t disappoint and took the initiative to answer for them both. “We’re still processing,” he replied vaguely. “But this one,” he jerked a thumb towards his younger brother, daring a fleeting glance, “is neglecting his care again.”

The accusatory tone wasn’t lost on the Asian doctor, neither was the way Jay tensed upon hearing the taunting words. He could tell there was a story there, but knew better than to interfere with family affairs, especially when it came to those two knuckleheads. They always seemed to quarrel with one another and while there was always a light teasing to it, it sometimes appeared forced, insincere almost. Nevertheless, everyone who knew the Halstead brothers could tell they cared about each other, and when push came to shove, they were fiercely protective of one another. Ethan didn’t want to be caught on the fence, so he ignored the underlying concern and focused on the reason why the detective was in the emergency department in the first place. “Since you came here on your own free will,” Jay scoffed at the choice wording, and Dr. Choi shared a fleeting look with his coworker, “I assume you’re still having trouble from the shooting?”

“Why don’t you ask Will? He seems to have all the answers,” the younger man suggested bitterly, not for the first time over the last days projecting his anger at the wrong person. Punching his brother when he was angry at himself for calling his father a thankless old prick instead of making amends. Accusing Hailey of transferring her own daddy issues onto him when really, she was just looking out for him. And now he was flippant with Ethan for no other reason than that he was cranky and worn out. He recognized his behavior as one he’d exhibited a lot that first year after coming home, after losing his mom. It was true what they said: old habits indeed died hard.

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his left thumb and ring finger, willing the budding headache away. “Sorry, doc,” he apologized quietly. “I’m just…” Just what exactly? Miserable? Depressed? Angry at the world? Sick of all the pain and suffering and really life in general? He’d earn himself a psych evaluation at the very least if he conceded that. “…tired, I guess.” He settled on that in the end, sounding as weary and exhausted as he appeared. He swiped a hand over his forehead in frustration, frowning at his palm when it came back sticky with sweat, but his clouded mind couldn’t come up with a reason why that was concerning.

His avowal surprised the other two men in the room, both knowing that the former rarely admitted to not feeling well, but neither commented on it right away. Instead, Dr. Choi resumed his scrutinization of the brunette, one eye twitching repeatedly as he noted the impressive bags under his patient’s eyes as well as the haunted expression in them. He was awfully conscious of what they alluded to, had seen the same pain staring back from his own mirror many times before. And even though his circumstances had been different, he immediately deciphered the message they provided. It was the driving accelerant fueling his next inquiry, wording chosen with delicacy and his voice soft. “Are you sleeping, Jay?”

Will’s eyebrows shot up, perplexed by the strange phrasing. Unintentionally answering the Asian’s tacit query of whether he’d been aware of his brother’s sleeplessness the previous night and those before that, he blurted out, “He slept through the night…” but stopped himself there. The ginger wasn’t oblivious to how expended the brunette still appeared this morning after what was supposed to be eight hors of restful sleep. But he had out it down to his physical ailments and the mental toll their father’s death had taken on him. Had he misread? He studied Jay, tried to figure out just what his colleague had seen beside the obvious but came up blank.

Subdued by the fact that someone else was better at reading his little brother than he was, he glanced between the two military men, both of whom ignoring his demur. They were holding a silent staring contest, one that he’d put money on his sibling winning because he’d never known him to cave unless their father was the opponent, but surprisingly the detective cracked first. A tiny spark of jealousy ignited in his stomach, wishing he’d have the same ability to break Jay’s resolve, or better yet connect to him in such a way in general. That he couldn’t was no one’s fault but his own, though.

“I take it that’s either a ‘not really’ or at the very least a ‘not enough’,” Ethan’s even and nonjudgmental voice brought him back from his musings. There was deep understanding in the dark brown, almost black eyes as the Asian ruefully added, “we will have to address that.” The former ranger licked dry lips and sucked them between his teeth, feeling exposed to have this intimate subject laid out like that in front of his brother. He caught a glimpse of Will from the corner of his eye, noted the uncertainty and his obvious chagrin for not being in the loop. Guilt set in at once, and he pulled himself up a bit straighter.

Sensing his unease, Dr. Choi smoothly bridged to the matter at hand. “Before we do, let’s focus on why you’re really here, okay?” Jay nodded timidly, then pushed himself up all the way into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed once more. His movements were stiff and sluggish, the fatigue making every muscle feel as if someone had attached blocks of cement. Ribs protested every move, and he stifled a wince that didn’t go unnoticed by the doctor. “How’s the pain?”

Embarrassment snuck into the detective’s cheeks, pronouncing a blush. “Manageable,” he assured, drawing a barked laugh out of Will. Two sets of eyes turned in his direction, Ethan’s gaging for a deeper meaning for the outburst whereas Jay’s Maui blue wore a sullen look. “Jeez, I’m so reassured that you don’t believe in the magical pills you force-fed me,” he quipped cynically but with a trace of humor. Softening his gaze as well as his voice, he reassured, “they are actually doing their job.” The redhead quirked a doubtful eyebrow. “Seriously, man, I’m okay.”

The ginger was anything but convinced but let it slide for the time being. “I’m glad to hear that,” he replied earnestly, holding his little brother’s eyes for a while longer, hoping to convey that all this was merely out of concern; he cared about him. Jay offered an imperceptive nod in understanding and curled the corner of his lip in a ghost of a smile. It wasn’t much but enough for the time being. Confidence returning, Will turned to Ethan, who was watching observantly from the sidelines. “Jay skipped on doses of his meds for a solid five days. I wasn’t aware until after the funeral yesterday, but I made sure he took them last night and this morning,” he relayed matter-of-factly.

Not at all surprised by the revelation, Dr. Choi didn’t so much as blink as he surmised, “so, pain is controlled for the time being.” Foregoing a lecture, both confident that Will had probably already given one if not multiple speeches to his patient and convinced that it would fall on deaf ears anyway, he moved on. “What brings you here then? It’s not like you to come in for a checkup unless absolutely necessary.” The Asian doctor moved to the disinfectant dispenser near the door, and after scrubbing up pulled a pair of gloves from the box hanging on the wall before moving closer to the bed. Knowing that the brunette wouldn’t be truthful, he shifted his attention to his coworker.

The older Halstead stood from his chair and joined Ethan, gladly taking the stage. “Last night when I checked on Jay’s injuries, he mentioned a grating sensation in the ribs. I took a closer look. There was a slight dip at the junction between the two bottom ribs and the sternum. Couldn’t tell for sure whether they were broken, so I thought it best to get another x-ray done just to be sure,” he explained as he claimed a spot at the foot of the bed.

“I agree, it can’t hurt to take another look. Initial imaging did reveal hairline fractures after all,” he contemplated. Turning to the former ranger, he requested, “can you lose the shirt for me, Jay?” The young man complied. His zip-up hoodie was discarded soon enough, but the shirt gave him a bit more trouble, and he couldn’t keep the grimace off his face as he carefully maneuvered out of the Henley. Will pressed his lips together as he realized that his brother had been lying. Clearly, he was still in a good amount of pain despite the medication. Ethan noticed too but refrained from straight-out saying it. Briefly making eye contact with the brunette, he warned, “I’m sure you’re used to it by now, but this might hurt a bit,” and waited for his patient’s approval.

Despite the warning Jay flinched away from Dr. Choi’s firm touch as he started palpating the area to the left of his breastbone. Glancing over at Will, the doctors shared an alarmed look. The ranger hadn’t reacted this badly to his brother’s examination the previous night, and he hadn’t even been on pain relievers then. “I can feel the dip as well. This could just be from muscle tenseness, but with your level of discomfort and your shallower than normal breathing,” Jay rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance, “I’d rather be safe than sorry.” The ginger nodded his appreciation, all the while staring at his dismissive brother. “What about the gunshot wound? Everything okay there?”

Breaking away from the detective, Will raised his eyes to his colleague. “It showed early signs of a local infection. Redness, swelling, warm to the touch. No pus though. I put on an antibiotic cream last night, and I made sure he took the antibiotics too,” he reported, finding comfort in the medical babble. “I haven’t had a chance to check on it today, though.” He carefully observed his brother’s reaction. Furrowing his brows, Jay looked down at his shoes, knowing this was because he’d been too pissed earlier to ask the older Halstead for help. Without thorough inspection of the wound, he’d removed the old dressing and put clean gauze on it by himself, sparing no glance at it whatsoever, therefore couldn’t tell if there was any improvement.

Ethan easily accepted the explanation, but he could tell there was more to it. “Let’s look then. Do you mind laying down for a minute, Jay?” The man in question obliged, abdominal muscles flexing uncomfortably as he did. To ease the strain the horizontal position put on the wound he raised his left leg at an angle. Meanwhile the Asian doctor circled around the bed for better access, and once his patient was situated, he peeled back the corner of the tape. Will caught a glimpse of the dressing, surprised that it was done with precision, almost replicating his from the previous night all the way down to the antibiotic cream and the cuticell. He had been under the impression that Jay had been too out of it last night to pay much attention to the ministrations but apparently, he had underestimated him. Then again, with his susceptibility to injuries and reluctance to seek medical help, he assumed this was far from the first time the detective had patched himself up.

“Doesn’t look that bad,” Dr. Choi approved after assessing his patient’s maltreated left side. It was still red and puffy but not overly so. “Antibiotics seem to already stave off any impending infection. As long as you stick to the course of taking them from now on, this will probably resolve itself. The swelling and pain will decrease eventually. We’ll just have to get the stitches out in another week or so.” The younger Halstead released a breath he had been holding, Will looking equally relieved. Ethan covered the wound again, deeming it unnecessary to renew it after only two hours. “I’ll get you scheduled for that x-ray now. ED is swarmed today, so it might take a while.” Jay scrunched up his face upon hearing that, and the Asian immediately felt sympathy for him, knowing how much the former ranger hated to be stuck here. “I’m sorry, Jay. Try to get some rest in the meantime. You know you need it.”

Smiling unconvincingly, the brunette nodded once, assuring, “I’ll try,” though all three men knew he wouldn’t even succumb to a five-minute nap whilst in the hospital. He needed a reprieve though, preferably sooner rather than later; the way he kept rubbing already irritated eyes and alternated between massaging the bridge of his nose and his temples attested to that. If he couldn’t find a way to shut off his spinning thoughts, there was no other option than a sleeping aid, even if it were just for one or two nights to allow his body to recharge properly. Jay seemed to be aware of that too. Thus, when the Asian opened his mouth to address the problem, he beat him to the punch. “Doxepin, lowest dose,” he rushed out quietly, eyes shifting nervously to Will. “No benzos, though.”

Ethan held his gaze for a long minute, detected the pleading in his blue-green eyes. As someone who suffered from post-traumatic stress himself, he grasped the potency of why the detective needed to be in control of this decision. This was not his first rodeo with sleeplessness, not by a long shot, and he had presumably been through a few to know which medications worked for him and which only made matters worse. Doxepin, while primarily used as an antidepressant, helped with insomnia as well and showed an effect almost instantly. It also wasn’t addictive like benzodiazepines, something Dr. Choi assumed Jay wanted to stay clear of not just because of his job. Nodding his understanding and watching the tension drain from the brunette, he promised, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

With a finalizing bop of the head, the Asian left the room, leaving the brothers by themselves. An awkward silence settled over them, neither willing nor knowing how to initiate a conversation. The older of the two still had his eyebrows knitted in puzzlement, eyes locked on his younger sibling. He watched as the former ranger absentmindedly rubbed his right thumb over the old, jagged scar at the base of his neck, something he had wondered about for years but never had the guts to ask about. Just like he hadn’t asked about all the other fain marks of past trauma littering Jay’s body. Each of them mocking Will whenever he got a glimpse of him shirtless just how little he knew about the terrors his baby brother had been through. The fact that the detective seemed familiar enough with severe insomnia to use medication for help, much less know which ones worked best for him, served yet another reminder of the bitter truth.

“You’re staring again,” the brunette’s voice interrupted his thoughts, resuming scratching the scar with his fingernail. He shifted his upper body but failed to find a comfier position on the uncomfortable cot. Pushing himself into a semi-reclined position, he grasped the opportunity to fetch his shirt from where he had discarded it closer to the foot of the bed. Jay pulled it over his head but winced when he tried to slip his left arm into the sleeve, the movement aggravating sore ribs. Willing to help, his brother rounded the footboard, but the younger man waved him off dismissively. “I can do it,” he stressed, pushing his hand through the hole forcefully to prove a point.

Huffing a frustrated breath, Will stepped away, hands poised to assist his brother. It unnerved him greatly that the brunette was so hellbent on doing things by himself, never asking anyone for help. Jay had always been too independent. Even as a kid he had hardly relied on anyone other than himself, rarely allowing people to take some of the load off him. The strong autonomy had only increased, went as far as the detective trying to solve and mend things that were way beyond his control. Deep down, the older Halstead knew he was partially responsible for that. And he was still trying to figure out how to prove to him that in spite of his neglect ten years ago, he was here to support him now and wouldn’t leave again. He’d prayed, the way they had grown closer in recent years would have convinced the detective that he didn’t have to face the hardships of life on his own anymore. But the last week had served as a painful reality check, reminding him time and again that there were too many fissures that needed sealing.

It was his phone this time that dragged him back to the present, effectively halting Jay’s attempts to get dressed as well. Will pulled the device from the pocket of his borrowed jeans and activated the display to a message from his fiancée. His younger brother slowly slipped the rest of the way into his t-shirt, watching silently as the redhead read the received text. The ginger’s facial features smoothed out, residual creases of worry making way for a blissfully happy and genuine smile. Jay didn’t have to be an investigator to know whom the message was from. “It’s from Natalie,” the doctor verbalized his assumptions, not bothering to look up. “She wants to know how we’re holding up. Wants to stop by before her shift starts.” Lifting his gaze to meet the brunette’s, his eyes begged for his approval, hopeful.

The expression pained Jay. While it warmed his heart that the older Halstead had someone who made him happy enough to invoke such an exuberant joy and tranquility, it simultaneously turned the blood in his veins into ice chunks, chilling him to the core. The way Will lit up like a Christmas tree from something as small as a one-liner from Natalie painfully reminded him that he didn’t have this. Didn’t have a person that had the ability to take his mind off the fact that they had only just lost their father, the only other remaining relative beside the two of them. But he didn’t want to impose, didn’t want to interfere with his brother’s contentment, so he replied to the unspoken question in the only way that felt right to him. “I’m not really up for company. But you should go see her,” he replied softly.

“Are you sure?” Will asked reluctantly, squatting slightly to the same eye level as the detective so that he could get a better read on him. Jay closed his lids briefly and sucked in a calming breath to hide all traces of him not being okay with this before the doctor caught a glimpse of them. Hazel orbs roamed over his little brother’s face, searching for clues of exactly that. “I’ll stay here if you want me to.” But Jay shook his head and grinned as widely as he could muster, mutely telling him no. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute, okay?” The brunette nodded once, granting the redhead permission to leave, so he did.

As he grabbed the door handle, Will hesitated. Instinct told him that Jay wasn’t as okay with this as he let on, the voice of reason angrily yelling at him that he’d convey the same message he had a decade prior. Turning around he caught him with his guard down, spotted the raw anguished expression on the former ranger’s face and a lonely unshed tear in the corner of his eye. It squeezed his insides excruciatingly. Was he seriously going to leave his baby brother alone with his grief again, inflict the same pain he had all those years ago? Gasping out a self-loathing breath he vehemently threw his head from side to side. Releasing the handle bar, he stalked back into the room and hauled the hospital chair over, placing it right beside the bed.

“No,” he stated, voice strong with determination. “This right here?” he waited for Jay to fully acknowledge him and once he did, pointed to the plastic seat, “this is where I need to be,” he asserted forcefully, holding the younger Halstead’s eyes. They were filled with vulnerability and loneliness in them that made Will’s heart ache, but there was also a sparkle of something else. Hope. And deep gratitude that Jay probably didn’t know how to verbalize. He didn’t have to though because the ginger got it all the same. “I’m not leaving you. I made that mistake once. I’m not doing it again.” The redhead worried his bottom lip, then placed a hand on the detective’s shoulder as he continued, tone softer but filled with true conviction. “I’ll always be your brother first.”

It was all Jay needed to come undone. He blinked; the single tear trickled down his sibling’s cheek and a myriad of emotions crossed his face that he hadn’t allowed to surface for way too long. Digging his fingers deeper into the crevice of his younger brother’s shoulder, Will gently pulled him in a hug, mindful not to jostle his ribs. He was aware that this wouldn’t magically erase all the unresolved issues hanging between them, but it was the first step in the right direction, the first right step he had taken with Jay in what were probably sixteen years, maybe even more. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was giving his little brother what he had deserved yet missed out on for since their mother had died: the unconditional love and affection of a family member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up will be a slightly different installment to the ones you're used to. Hints have been dropped both in this and the previous chapter to what we might be looking into next. Any guesses?
> 
> As always, stay healthy, stay safe, stay vigilant, stay (insert preferred adjective here).


	14. Pages Turning, Pages We Were Years from Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Give to the poor and care of the ill. Random acts of kindness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later than my usual weekly update but earlier than I thought, I present to you this monster of a chapter. This one covers an entire year in the life of the Halsteads. 1994 is quite an important one for the family, pioneering and formative in many ways. The installment covers a lot of ground in a short amount of time, real life events get the stone rolling, creating sort of like a domino effect that carries through the entire chapter. Because of the huge time span, a lot of the events and family history are narrated in a compressed way, building up to one (or two) specific moments in Jay's life which paved the way for him to shape into the man that we know.
> 
> The idea for this chapter was sparked when I first realized how different this year's Christmas was going to be for everyone compared to what we're used to. A lot of us won't be able to spend time with family. I know my family time will be severely limited because I'm not only working with risk patients every day but don't want to subject my family to any unnecessary risks. It's going to be hard, it's going to take a toll on all of us, especially those who lost someone dear to the horrid disease that is Covid-19. My heart goes out to all of those who lost someone this year, and to those who have to spend Christmas alone or fighting for their own health as well as all those working relentlessly on the frontlines. I feel your stress, your pain, your loneliness. Essentially, this chapter is for you, extends that little bit of extra comfort and hope that we all need so much this year.
> 
> Without dragging this out any more, enjoy this extra long chapter.
> 
> Merry Christmas.
> 
> Song is 'Re: Stacks' by Charlie Simpson.

The neonatal weeks of 1994 were ones that Chicagoans would remember for a while.

Whilst generally not as snowy and gelid as some other parts of the Great Lake area, winters were indisputably harsh in the Windy City, and January that year was no exception. For eight consecutive days temperatures stayed below zero, starting on the fourteenth and hitting its nadir on the eighteenth with a low minimum of -21 and maximum of -11 degrees Fahrenheit. It didn't quite break the 1985 all-time low of negative 27, but it tied with the record for the coldest low max set on Christmas 1983. With windchills dropping all the way down to -70, city mayor Richard Daley advised residents not to leave their houses unless it was absolutely necessary, thereby putting the town in a state of artificial hibernation. Meanwhile, the polar vortex left a path of destruction in its wake. Aside from the coldest day claiming four hypothermia deaths in Cook County, tens of thousands of people were without power due to severed electricity lines, or without water as a result of pipe explosions, and many were subjected to insufficient heating.

Not quite as brutal as January but starting off just as frigid before getting on a meteorological rollercoaster was February. For the entire first half of the month, temperatures ranged from somewhere between subzero and teens, sporadically reaching up to low twenties, and when the third week rolled around with almost mild thirties and even forty degrees one day, the cold-weary Chicagoans cherished those days. But the icy clutch returned towards the end of the month, this time whipping the city not just with freezing chills, but also with inches and inches of snow.

The Halsteads were clobbered with the full brunt of both ruthless weather phenomena. At first the artic outbreak mid-January left them without water for a grand three days, and no heating or power for an entire week, in a poorly insulated house at that. A harrowing scenario that forced them to huddle in layers and layers of clothes and a mountain of comforters for days on end, because Patrick was too stubborn to take up his father-in-law's offer to live with them and seek the warmth of their fireplace. But the real sledgehammer came when Mother Nature launched her wintry barrage late in February. The rapid drop in temperatures turned rainy roads into slippery danger zones and eventually death traps once black ice was obscured beneath a thick blanket of snow. Seamus Ó Flannagâin, Jay and Will's maternal grandfather, got caught in the middle, unable to eschew from a multiple pile-up on the interstate that ended lethal for half of those involved, including him.

His abrupt demise was a shock for the family, hit his wife Roisin and daughter Sadhbh the hardest, but for the Halstead brothers it was the first time ever losing a close relative. They had adored gramps Ó Flannagâin, had spent many weekends and summers with him up in the cabin in the woods of Northern Wisconsin. He had been a down-to-earth, loving man, and his enthusiasm and patience had rendered him an amazing raconteur as well as a competent teacher in basic life skills. Losing him was like losing part of their childhood, more specifically the part that subtly prepared them for an independent future while simultaneously shielding them from the harmful aspects of life. Gone was that innocent and sacrosanct world. And gone was the sacred grandfatherly affection and guidance of a male role model that was so different from the distant and gruff demeanor of all the other men in their family.

Mourning, for a child, was a strange and scary experience, stranger and scarier the younger the kid, that whole concept of death and grief a foreign one. At age ten and seven, Will and Jay knew death, had attended enough funerals of one or the other elderly member of their church. But those were people they hardly knew and barely had a personal connection with, therefore didn't feel that immediate impact of their passing. Nevertheless, they dealt surprisingly well on Seamus' reception, but it was only because the reality of it all hadn't fully set in yet. It wouldn't hit them until spring break came around – a time that they would have spent helping him clean up whatever havoc winter had wreaked on the cabin. To make the transition easier for the boys, Sadhbh along with her mother took them up there in late March regardless, allowing them to say their last goodbyes to their hero in a way that would rightfully honor him and what he had stood for. It was the right decision, the four of them going through the five stages of grief, intimately reminiscing the many precious happy memories, they had with him up there.

Unbeknownst to the brothers and their mom, they augured the bereavement of another grandparent as well. When their little vacation came to an end, Roisin disclosed to them that once back in the city, she would move away, Chicago and Wisconsin holding too many painful reminders of her late spouse. With Seamus no longer amongst the living, and with her daughter leading a mostly happy family life herself, she felt that nothing kept her in America any longer, a country she had moved to out of love for her husband. So, she packed her belongings and moved back to Ireland where she had been born and raised to reconnect with her estranged siblings. And although she promised her grandsons that she would visit at least once a year, Sadhbh already knew it was an empty vow. Her mother's departure would be permanent, a one-way ticket back to her roots.

They weren't given the chance to weep for her though, because April brought a whole new set of hurdles. Back from their reprieve, Mrs. Halstead and her sons learned that Patrick had been laid off his job due to a lack of orders in the preceding harsh Chicago winter months. Already on a tight leash financially after helping granny Ó Flannagâin with the funeral costs, the family found themselves in a bit of a pickle. For the patriarch, the easiest and quickest way and thereby the obvious choice to get out of the fiscal strain was to sell the cabin. But with the recent loss and the sentimental value that place harbored, his proposal was protested fervently by the rest of the family. Outnumbered, Pat had no other alternative but to begrudgingly cave, though they compromised on renting the lodge out as a holiday retreat for the time being.

Frankly, other options were severely limited. They already lived in a tiny single detached two-bedroom home, and unless they downgraded to an even tinier cramped apartment in an even shabbier neighborhood in the South Side, there was nothing cheaper on the market for a family of four. Expenditures were already thoroughly measured to a bare minimum. The only way to save expenses was to cut back on the boy's after-school activities, namely their musical education and their multiple sports. Neither Will nor Jay were thrilled to be pulled from their respective hockey and basketball teams, sports they had only recently found joy in. But when baseball had to go too, the brothers grew suspicious. They both were valued as well as valuable players in their Little League team, but it was mostly Patrick's pride and obsession that they played in the first place. For him to make this decision, something had to be wrong.

Next to no reassurance was found in pitching the occasional ball with their dad or meeting in the diamond with friends on the weekends, and not in shooting lone hoops in the yard either. But this was the way things had to be for a while, so they yielded to their fate. At least they wouldn't have to give up on their instrumental lessons, because being the musical wizard that she was Sadhbh was perfectly capable of teaching them guitar and tin whistle at home.

Spring gave way to summer and the warmer months bestowed the Halsteads with a much-needed breather when Patrick scored a new job with a better paying construction firm. They were still in financial dire straits but having taken a fancy to teaching whilst home-schooling Will and Jay, their mother had decided to start tutoring other kids in the neighborhood as well. Things finally started to look up. They still didn't have the money to put the boys back into their sports but at least they made enough to set aside a dime or two every week for the fickler winter months. And maybe, if things held up, they hoped they'd be able to splurge on a bigger Christmas present for the brothers. Pat and Sadhbh had the perfect thing in mind already, after hearing the boys talk animatedly about the impending release of the PlayStation ever since it was first announced. It was the least they could do to reward their sons. After all, they missed out on a lot and barely complained about anything, had expressed an angelic patience and way too mature understanding of their hardships.

But as always, life had other plans. Just like 1994 had been born under an unlucky star, it would come to a just as miserable end. Set in motion late in November, more specifically on the twenty-fourth – a Thursday – it was yet another ill-fated incident that the family could have done without.

Thanksgiving in the Halstead household wasn't quite celebrated in an All-American way. After living in Chicago for three generations on the paternal side, they had taken over most of the holiday traditions, but they had customized it with their own humble Irish charm. So, instead of turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy and cranberry sauce they indulged in Irish stew, home-made soda bread and shepherd's pie, adopting only the conventional pumpkin pie for dessert. Days were usually spent venturing the city, then watching the parade and football games afterwards, and evenings were reserved for the Irish community on ceilis with live sessions, dance and a good amount of whiskey for the adults.

Whilst sticking to the family tradition, this year was different in a lot of ways, the mood subdued because of everything they had endured and lost in the months leading up to that day. To save up on money and conserve fuel, they refrained from their usual excursions even though the nice weather would have given them the perfect opportunity. Instead, Will and Jay were sent outside to play by themselves most of the day, allotting Patrick the quiet to catch up on much needed rest after stressful weeks of work, and Sadhbh the peace to prepare dinner. She'd do so without her own mother by her side for the first time and she knew she might not make it through preparations without a meltdown, but she didn't want either of her sons to witness that. At first, the boys were reluctant to leave her by herself, the youngest more so than the oldest, sensing that the day took more of a toll on their mom than she would ever let on in front of them. However, she insisted they have a good time outside, so they did.

Looking back, it was with her decision, with that well-intentioned attempt to shield her kids, that the day went south. And south it went, the repercussions grave enough that Sadhbh would wonder later whether she could have prevented it all had she not pushed the boys. Unbeknown to anyone, the nestling would carry an equal amount of guilt over leaving the house and the events that happened after for years to come.

It started out as an innocuous session of ball play. Out on the vacant street, Will and Jay took turns pitching a baseball. It was a nice change of pace for the boys. With most of their friends joining in all kinds of after-school activities that they themselves couldn't participate in, their afternoons were rather glum and mostly spent with their noses studiously buried in books. They missed the play. But as they threw and caught ball after ball, the strain of the previous months dulled to a faint memory for the time being. As they rediscovered their natural skill that had once gotten them their well-deserved spots on the Little League team, what started as a lighthearted game slowly crescendoed into a more competitive match. They got reckless.

The thing with recklessness was that it tended to get people into trouble, and with the way the year went, things were bound to go down the drain for the Halstead boys. It was Jay's turn to pitch, Will squatting down a few feet away, ready to catch what was an especially tricky ball. A little too tricky as it turned out, because when he tried to grab it with his gloved hand, he missed it by a hair's breadth, thereby allowing the leather to sail through the air just a bit longer. It sailed as far as the rear window of Mr. Elliot's pick-up truck, creating an ear-splitting clanking noise as it broke through the pane. Glass splintered, sending shards flying everywhere.

Whatever victory Jay had felt for outsmarting his older brother left him, the smug expression melting from his face as his mouth formed a perfect o-shape. Will spun around in slow motion, curious and anxious at the same time about the damage done. For a minute, the siblings stood frozen in place, mesmerized by the destruction. Then reality set in and their awe was replaced by a terrified panic. First to recover was the ginger. Averting his gaze from the broken window he fixated it on his little brother. He jogged over, throwing his hands up in the air exaggeratedly. "Dude!" the eleven-year-old cried out. "Are you crazy, man? Why did you do that? Do you know what kind of trouble you just got us in?" The brunette worried his lip. "That's Mr. Elliot's car. If he sees that, he's gonna go ballistic."

His mouth was running a mile a minute, an anxious high pitch decorating his otherwise prematurely puberty vocal changed voice. Still shocked, Jay stood there silent, eyes wide and face unnaturally white even for his generally pallid complexion. He gulped loudly, unable to form a response. Meanwhile, the redhead started pacing; two steps to the right, two to the left in a never-ending loop. The older sibling was rightfully concerned.

Mr. Elliot, their across-the-street neighbor, was a cranky, choleric man in his forties who found satisfaction in one thing: calling the cops on anyone doing what was in his opinion suspicious activity, mostly on unsuspecting kids and teenagers who merely minded their own business. For some reason, he had always loathed the Halstead boys, sneered and huffed snide remarks when their parents weren't around even though they had never given him any reason to despise them. They had asked their mom about it once, but she had waved it off, told them that he was just a lonely, rancorous man who begrudged other people what he himself didn't have, a family. It was only partially true for she had deliberately left the part out where their neighbor used to have a crush on her and was jealous that Patrick, despite his equally grumpy persona, unlike him had managed to sweep her off her feet.

Will suddenly stopped mid-step right in front of the eight-year-old, piercing him with dreadful hazel eyes. "So is dad," he rushed out. "Dad's going to be so pissed." If possible, the brunette lost yet another couple shades of color, his eyes twitching with fear. The hardships of the past year had brought out an angrier, frenzied side of their father and even though neither of the brothers would admit it, his unpredictability scared them tremendously. Jay wasn't sure which wrath he should be worried about more, that of Mr. Elliot or that of their old man. "We have to get the baseball out of the car," the ginger declared. "And by we, I mean you."

The younger boy's mouth dropped open. "What?!" he burst out, finally finding his voice again. "Why me?" he asked exasperatedly, voice a perfect mix of whiny and challenging. Jay's face twisted into one of confusion, defiance and disbelief, his nostrils flaring, lips parted and the lower one showing just enough of his teeth to bare the gap where his last front tooth had fallen out a week ago. His shoulders were tense, arms hanging by his side as his hands fisted the cuffs of too long sleeves of a way too big washed-out sweater, a hand-me-down by Will.

"Because you're the one who pitched the ball, dimwit," the ginger spat, then added a, "duh," while rolling his eyes as if wasn't patently obvious. He pulled the baseball glove off his hand, clasped it under his left arm and pushed his little brother in the direction of the damaged pick-up. "You get on the truck bed, climb in through the broken window, fetch the baseball and climb back out. Easy. Then we get the hell out of here and never say a word to anyone. No one will ever be the wiser," Will laid out his plan, sounding way too excited and sure of himself.

Jay wasn't as convinced. Halting his steps, he resisted against his older sibling's nudges. He opened his mouth in protest, ready to launch into a lecture explaining just how stupid and hare-brained the idea was and the million different ways this could go sideways. Despite being the younger of the two, the brunette was always the more sensible, more responsible one, quite the contrary to Will's often harum-scarum and erratic persona. He didn't like to hush up his missteps, would much rather face the consequences of ill-advised actions full on than have it come bite him in the ass later and with much more aggression. However, when the redhead shushed him and reminded him of what was at stake – "Do you want to explain this to Mr. Elliot? Or dad? Or even worse: mom? Mom will be so disappointed. If dad and Mr. Elliot don't kill us first. Or are you just too chicken to do it?" – he clenched his teeth and relented, going against his gut. A mistake he would pay a heavy price for.

Sighing, the eight-year-old surrendered albeit grudgingly. He heaved his scrawny body up and into the truck bed and squeezed through the jagged pieces of glass into the car, spotting the desired round object wedged under the gas pedal, his mind all the while screaming at him that he should get out of here and just leave it. But Will would never let him live this down, would forever call him a coward, he was sure of that. No, he wouldn't give the older Halstead the satisfaction of that, wouldn't risk his brother and currently only friend to hold this over him for the rest of his life.

So, he pushed himself a little bit further, ignoring the sharp pain as shards tore through his pants and into his thigh as he reached for the round leather. Cursed himself for his tiny frame when his hand came up just an inch or two short. Jay tried to wriggle free from where his jeans had gotten caught in the broken window frame, but it only served in tearing into his already shredded leg deeper. The searing pain caused him to lose the grip his right hand had on the handbrake – the worst part of the car's interior to hold onto in the first place, the boy belatedly realized. He gasped with a sudden sense of foreboding, and seconds later his premonition became reality: his fingers slipped and inadvertently released the brake, jolting him forward and he failed to balance himself in his precarious semi upside down position when the truck started rolling.

For Will, it all happened in slow motion, and all he could do was watch in horror as the silver pick-up started moving down the slightly sloping driveway straight into the Honda parked on the street right in front. There was aloud clunk, followed by a horrid screeching sound of crushing metal upon collision. It reverberated down the entire street and made the eleven-year-old flinch and wince. It took him a few blinks to get him out of shell-shocked state, the crumpled heap of the two demolished vehicles mocking him, but when he heard the commotion of neighbor's front doors opening and people running in his direction, his mind caught up: his brother was in this pile of metal!

Dropping the baseball glove onto the grass, he scurried towards the truck. "Jay!" he yelled out as he reached the driver's side door. A glimpse through the spider-webbed window revealed the younger boy crammed in between the steering wheel, middle console and seat. Blood was oozing from his scalp and his right temple. "Shit, shit, shit," Will muttered nervously. "Jay?" The lump that was his little brother stirred and tried to push itself into a sitting position, releasing a pained moan as the motion jostled the right arm. "Jay, are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh God, Jay, you're bleeding. Jay!" Will rambled on anxiously as he tried to pry the door open. The eight-year-old merely grunted again, too dazed from the impact. It spurred the older boy into tugging on the jammed door with even more force, but it didn't budge. Another set of hands joined his and with combined effort the hinges came off.

Everything after was a blur for the redhead. Someone pushed him to the side, someone else pulled Jay from the car wreck and checked him over. Behind him, Mr. Elliot and his brother came barreling out of their residence. Suddenly, his mother was there, followed closely by his father. Sadhbh gave him a quick onceover and once satisfied that he was unharmed, detoured to her youngest, assessing him and petting him down for possible injuries, engulfing him in a crushing embrace when she didn't find anything of immediate concern. The small boy had yet to utter a word, worrying both his mom and the neighbor.

It wasn't until the latter inquired about calling an ambulance, that the eight-year-old spoke. "I'm okay, mom," Jay assured her, voice quiet yet strong, even though it was apparent he wasn't entirely truthful. He was quite clearly in shock, white as a sheet and a fine tremor ran through his entire frame as he cradled his right arm against his chest. Sadhbh didn't push, merely ushered her slightly limping son back to the house, Will shuffling his feet as he followed them at a slower pace. He kept his head down and swallowed against the guilt, knowing that this was in huge parts his fault.

Meanwhile, Patrick was deep in an argument with an enraged Mr. Elliot and the man's brother, the three of them trying to get to the bottom of what had happened. Even though many neighbors had dripped out of their houses upon hearing the raucous bang, no one had been eye witness to it, leaving the only two who knew the whole story to be Will and Jay. Mr. Elliot was quick to blame them and hailed according expletives about them at Mr. Halstead. Equally infuriated by his sons' stupidity, senior promised to find out the truth. So, as soon as the commotion outside died down and neighbors dispersed to their respective homes, the family father stormed into his house in search of his rampant boys, ready to tear them a new one.

He found them in the kitchen, Jay sitting on the closest chair and Will standing behind his little brother, gripping the backrest in a white-knuckled hold. Pat didn't bother raise his gaze higher than that, was focused on the deer caught in the headlights look on his youngest's face instead. If he had glanced up, he would have seen a similar guilt-ridden expression on his oldest. But he was too furious, too fixated on the eight-year-old. It didn't even register that Sadhbh knelt in front of the kid, pressing a gauze pad against a profusely bleeding laceration an inch above his eyebrow. Or that she repeatedly asked him to show her his arm, to which the brunette merely shook his head and said it was fine. His mom suspected it was a lie, hence the gentle yet relentless prodding. However, it took the patriarch's fury to bring the full scope of the fluke to light.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Patrick roared as he surged forward and yanked his son upright. "Answer me, you stupid brat!" He ignored his wife's cries for him to stop when he hauled the boy across the room, all the while yelling at him, demanding an answer. He ignored Will's pleas to leave his brother alone, rambling at him that Jay hadn't done anything wrong. Blinded by his rage, Mr. Halstead was focused on the youngest only as he laid into him. Senior stopped only when a tormented yelp escaped the brunette's lips as something in his arm gave way with a sickening crack and pop. Loosening his tight grip, the terrified kid freed himself and landed in a bundle on the floor, shrinking and scrambling backwards until he hit the wall. Fearful blue-green eyes stared up at him, tears now leaking generously from them as he curled himself around his right forearm.

Time in the Halstead residence stood still for what seemed an eternity, a deafening silence cast over the kitchen with the only sounds being Pat's heavy breathing and Jay's muffled snivels. It was Will who broke the quiet with desperate weeping recounts of the events, explaining how he had made his little brother climb into the truck. "It was my fault, not Jay's," he concluded with a wet hiccup. Eventually, his father tore his eyes away from the sobbing mess on the floor, however merely sent a disdainful and disappointed glare at his oldest who instinctively flinched back in anticipation of being his dad's next punching bag. Muttering something about discussing things with Mr. Elliot as well as the consequences they would be facing, the man left the kitchen with long scuffling strides.

Once he was out the door, Sadhbh wasted no time to jump into action. It took her less than a second to sweep a whimpering Jay up off the floor and instruct a sniffling Will to follow her to the family car, less than ten minutes to drive to the nearest hospital. It took an agonizing four hours of waiting in an overcrowded emergency room and yet another two filled with a plethora of exams and scans for them to learn of the full extent of the brunette's injuries. The entire time Jay's mother and brother in turns asked him if he was alright because he looked about ready to puke and great amounts of pain. But the eight-year-old refused to utter a sound of discomfort, just snuggled into his mama's side and mutely stared off into space. It was something that never ceased to amaze Mrs. Halstead: her baby's ability to detach himself from his pain – or internalize it, she couldn't be sure which – so easily, so naturally. It also scared, downright terrified her because she never knew just how much he was really hurting.

Ultimately, Jay ended up having a dislocated wrist reduced and a broken radius set before the entire right forearm from his elbow all the way to his fingers was immobilized in a cast for what the doctors called a Galeazzi fracture. Aside from that, numerous cuts along hi legs and the lacerations on his forehead and scalp were cleaned, the larger ones stitched and dressed, and a grade two concussion won him an overnight stay in the pediatric wing. During all that, Will never once left his little brother's side. And once his sibling was situated in a hospital bed, he immediately squeezed himself in right next to the eight-year-old, laying a protective arm around his shoulders. Sadhbh was deeply touched by the gesture, sought reassurance from that after the horrendous Thanksgiving Day as she settled herself into the chair and stroked her youngest's soft brown curls.

Jay was released mid-morning the following day. Considering all that could have happened, he had been lucky. Though Patrick begged to differ once he saw the medical bill. When the three Halsteads came home, he was ready to unleash yet another tirade upon both his sons. But this time, Sadhbh wasn't as paralyzed as the previous day. Instead, she moved in front of her boys and growled at her husband like lioness defending her cubs. She'd make sure he never laid a hand on either of her babies again, fiercely snarled as much at him in no unmistakable words, threatening to pack her bags and leave with the kids, if he dared try. Panicked that he might lose the love of his life and ashamed for his unrestrained temper, he calmed himself down after that. He didn't, however, let up from a stern dressing down, bestowing both Jay and Will with house arrest for the remainder of the year and possibly into the next year.

December rolled around and the atmosphere in the Halstead household was tense, stifling at best. Even on the better days, the children tiptoed around their father, constantly hyperaware of his mood and trepid of an impromptu explosive outburst. Sadhbh, too, was Argus-eyed around her spouse, ready to make good on her promise should he try something.

Adding to the stress were the arduous and tiring attempts to sit down and discuss with Mr. Elliot how they would handle the aftermath of the collision. Being the bully that he was, he expected them to fully absorb costs for all repairs on both wrecked cars, which cumulated to a lot. He had no sympathy for their financial situation, even threatened with lawsuit should they not pay up every cent. Thus, all their wimpy set-asides and then some were drained, leaving them basically bankrupt, unable to even so much as pay for gas. Orders slowed down for Patrick, so no hope to make some good money presented itself on that front either. As a result, Mrs. Halstead picked up extra shifts in the library throughout the day and took on a few more kids to give music lessons to in the afternoons and on weekends. The wage was meager, barely covered their basic needs, but every penny helped.

The parents tried to keep the monetary struggle from their children, but their mom's busy schedule alone made them suspicious. Jay and Will were perceptive, had grown accustomed to the vortex of emotions in their folks that was related to the current status of their bank account over the past year. They could tell that things were in the rough again, rougher than it had ever been. The guilt of knowing that their actions had put the family in this dire situation kept them awake at night, had them forge plans into the early morning hours. For the most part, they kept their heads down, busied themselves by doing most of the chores around the house, helping as best as they could. Until one night, Jay came up with the idea to organize secret bake sales in the neighborhood as well as their school, profits to be safely socked away under the bed.

It was on Christmas Eve that the literal money stocking came into play, Jay's usually annoying insomniac habits finally having a moment of glory. A quarter to midnight, once sure that Sadhbh and Patrick were fast asleep, the eight-year-old snuck down the stairs and carefully placed the sock under the tree, a card with an apology that came from the bottom of his and Will's hearts attached to it.

Alas, it remained the lone gift under the sparsely decorated, diminutive excuse of a conifer, causing the same delicate hearts to plummet the next morning, when their owner's eyes fell on the barren carpet underneath. Whatever exhilaration had pulled them out of bed extra early on Christmas morning vanished in that instant. And while at least the older of the two somehow expected the dearth of presents, the younger was thoroughly confused. Glancing up at the ginger with watery eyes, he hoped the eleven-year-old could give him an explanation. Will could have but he didn't find the words, nor did he have the heart to crush the eight-year-old's spirits. He himself might not believe in Santa any more, knew the yearly benefactors to be mom and dad, but Jay still very much believed in the bearded man.

Maybe it had been his sibling's firm belief and hope, maybe it had been the nagging remorse over the Thanksgiving incident. But when the brunette had begged him to help write a wish list since he himself was unable to do so with his right arm still in a cast, he hadn't hesitated. Therefore, he knew his little brother's wishes by heart, knew why he was so devastated.

_Dear Santa,_

_I tried to be good this year and for the most part I was. Will and I were stupid though. And now mom and dad are in trouble with Mr. Elliot._

_I really want a PlayStation for Christmas this year. But what I want even more is that you help mom and dad with the money we owe to Mr. Elliot. It's not their fault we crashed the car. They mustn't be punished for what we did._

_Can you please help them? I won't be mad if you don't get me a PlayStation but please help them. I want mom and dad to be happy again and not mad at us anymore._

_Jay_

_(and Will)_

The ginger had secretly rewritten the whole thing later that day, switching out the 'I's' for 'we's' and adding his signature because he couldn't accept that Jay took the full blame for what had gone down. He had shed a tear or two when he had heard his brother dictate the letter, had seen his mother do the same when she had picked the scroll from the back porch that night. The willingness to give up his own wish too selfless, downright altruistic, sheer overwhelming. Empathy was a wonderful thing, but no eight-year-old should sacrifice his own happiness for that of his parents. Even their dad had realized that fact when he had joined his wife in the living room and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. Will could have sworn that he had seen moisture in the hardened man's eyes as well.

No matter how brave and noble Jay was, the fact that Santa Clause had let them down and fulfilled neither of their wishes upset the boy. The older brother could see it in his tear-brimmed eyes, the deep frown on his forehead and the pouty lip: the brunette tried desperately not to cry. So, Will wrapped his arm around his shoulder and dragged him to the couch, turned on the TV for them to watch cartoons, snuggling his younger sibling into his side. Jay rarely let him do this, rarely allowed himself to need his big brother, but today there was no resistance whatsoever and Will relished in that. For once, he was going to be the one doing the comforting, would play the role that was assigned to him eight and a half years ago on that scrawny little bundle's day of birth.

It was going on seven thirty when Sadhbh and Patrick found their sons huddled on the sofa in their pajamas, the sight of their discouraged faces tugging at their mother's heart. She wasted no time rushing into the parlor, peppering kisses onto their damp cheeks and maneuvering them onto her lap for a motherly bear hug. Apologies were muttered into their unruly hair, along with a merry Christmas that held no truth in it, because it wasn't merry at all. Nevertheless, the boys wished her the same, seeking comfort from the embrace for as long as it lasted, forgetting just how distraught they were by the lack of gifts.

Peace didn't last long though. Bleak breakfast sobered them up rather quickly, reminding them of how little money the Halsteads had to their name. Their meal consisted of stale cereal with a splash of milk and a slice of buttered toast, no fancy or special Christmas feast to be had. It was what eventually set Jay off, the youngest suddenly unable to contain his frustration over everything any longer. He vented his spleen by swinging his feet and kicking the leg under the table quite aggressively. A constant scowl was cemented on his face as she shoveled a spoonful of into his mouth. He clanked the metal against his teeth, then purposely bit down on the silverware, earning him a stifled growl and hardened stare from his father across the table. For once, the brunette didn't care.

Eventually, Sadhbh called him out on his behavior but not even her angelic voice and saintly patience worked on him. "This isn't fair," he cried out. "I had two wishes. Two! And Santa didn't even give the one that I wanted most. It's not fair!" The incensed eight-year-old dropped the spoon into his still three-quarters full bowl, causing a few flakes to spill out. He threw himself back in his chair with an exasperated huff and crossed his arms as far as his casted arm allowed, dangling his legs even wilder until he hit something soft.

An exaggerated yelp from Will revealed what he had hit: his brother's shin. "Dude, what the heck?" Jay didn't bother apologize to the redhead, merely threw daggers at him. For the first time since the incident on Thanksgiving, there was visceral blame evident in the younger sibling's blue-green eyes, albeit just briefly before guilt and something else crept into it that the ginger couldn't place. "You know why your wish wasn't fulfilled, Jay? Because Santa doesn't exist," he snarled but immediately regretted saying it when all color drained form the eight-year-old's face. An hour ago, he had made a vow not to spill the harsh truth, yet here they were.

Jay swallowed, his Adam's apple bopping. "You're lying," he fired back, voice laced with strong conviction. "You're lying," he repeated, a higher pitch. "He's lying, right, mom?" Quieter now, uncertainty and desperation creeping in. His eyes shifted towards her, then his father, whispering brokenly, "dad?" but the man decidedly glanced away, so he focused on his mother again. Deep regret and compassion were etched on her face, a faint, sad smile faint and kind eyes communicating what she couldn't verbalize. The eight-year-old knew then that Will spoke the truth, because his mama wouldn't lie to him. His bottom lip started quivering, nose switching and lashes flickering. He looked about ready to cry. But before the tears spilt over, Jay pushed himself out of the chair. Its legs scraped across the floor, caught in one of the tile joints and toppled over, clattering to the ground. The boy couldn't be bothered with it, just fled the room with a final, "I don't believe you! I don't believe you!" as he stomped down the hall and up the stairs, slamming whatever door dared to stand in his way.

Yells and thuds echoed from upstairs; Will cringed with every sounding thump, Sadhbh's heart cracked with every gut-wrenching weep, and Patrick seethed with generally every noise. A particularly loud bang caused his already short fuse to hot-wire. Surging to his feet, he sent his own stool flying, ready to put an end to the unacceptable behavior. He was halfway through the door when his wife's surprisingly strong grip on his biceps help him back. "Don't you dare," she breathed just loud enough for him to hear. One look at her compelled him into complete submission, the icy sharp warning in her usually warm hazel eyes enough to extinguish his blazing fury. He slouched his shoulders, set his jaw and before their oldest even realized what was happening, his father grabbed his keys and coat and vanished out the front door.

Mrs. Halstead sighed, relieved that she had successfully averted a disaster. But with that came an intense heartache for both her sons. She knew her youngest's actions were fueled by raw devastation and despair, a painful reminder of how much her children had had to sacrifice this past year. They shouldn't have to, should instead enjoy themselves without a care in the world, without the weight of the world on their shoulders. They shouldn't have to worry about the family's monetary issues, shouldn't have to organize secret bake sales– yes, she knew about those; a mother always knew – to help pay their ever-growing debts. They were just kids, for God's sake. However, one glance into the parlor and at the lone sock sitting under the crooked tree made her realize that they weren't 'just kids' though. Her boys had stopped being 'just kids' sometime between late February and early April that year, somewhere between their beloved grandfather's death and their father losing his job.

The memory of her own father's sudden passing sent a stabbing jolt of pain through her chest. She almost choked on a sob, swallowed it just in time before it escaped and alerted her oldest that something was wrong. Sadhbh didn't want him to witness her moment of grief, not today anyway, not when she had to figure out how to turn this gloomy and grim Christmas morning into a memorable Christmas Day despite their momentary draught. If her dad had still been alive, he would have known a way to cheer up his grandsons. Seamus Ó Flannagâin had always seen opportunity in crisis, had always known how to make everything out of nothing, and how to turn bad into something beautiful. She had always admired and been inspired by his endless optimism, and she knew her boys idolized him for it as well.

Maybe she could do that too, honor her dad by doing the same, by making the best out of a terrible situation. And she might just have the perfect thing in mind. Spinning around on her heels, she regarded her eleven-year-old son just long enough to get his attention. "Will, go get dressed and wait outside if you please," she encouraged him, confusing the ginger with her sudden excitement and joyful anticipation, but the only explanation she offered him was a vague, "you, Jay and I will go for a walk," before she ascended the stairs to fetch his brother from upstairs.

Christmas Day 1994, in stark contrast to the frigidity the year had started with, was unnaturally balmy for Chicago. Temperatures still hovered somewhere in the mid-thirties and were promised to reach high forties later in the day. It almost felt like spring was around the corner. But despite the promised mild, Sadhbh insisted on Will and Jay wearing their winter coats and boots, knowing that the city's ruthless windchills oftentimes made it feel much colder than what the mercury claimed. Surprisingly, there was barely any wind that day, but her foresight would pay off later.

Their destination took them on a forty-minute foot walk into the South Side of Chicago, a trek filled with an uncomfortable silence and barely concealed enmity between Jay and Will. Sadhbh wasn't used to her boys fighting. Sure, they had their occasional quarrels and spats, but never this serious. She wasn't worried though. Most of the time, the brothers got along well, had grown even closer in recent months, and she was sanguine that by the end of the day they would settle their discrepancies, maybe sooner if her plans worked out the way she intended them to. Nevertheless, there was still a lingering doubt whether her course of action was the right one. Hardship after hardship thrown at them might have matured them beyond their years, but were they ready for what they were about to see? Or would it add insult to injury? Well, she was determined to find out. It was too late to turn around anyway.

Whatever reaction she had expected, the one she received wasn't it. As their target, a rundown brick building with bland windows except for a huge banner reading 'Food Distribution Center', came into view up ahead, Will immediately stopped, his feet rooted to the asphalt. His face lost all color, soft freckles and red mop standing out against the pallid skin. "Mom," he gasped, his brown eyes huge and round and filled with horror. "We're not… We're not that bad off," he rasped, eyes wandering to his little brother fleetingly as he squeaked, "are we?" He bit down on his lip hard and glanced at the younger boy again, watched Jay blanch when the words sank in, his expression mirroring that of his older sibling. "I mean… We have food. W-we never go to bed hungry. We don't-"

"Oh God, no, Will." Sadhbh crouched down in front of her sons, taking one of each boys' hands into her eyes and squeezed, stroking the back of it reassuringly. Staring straight into her eldest's eyes, she soothed, "we're not that bad off. We're far from it. You don't need to worry, Will." Her eyes flitted to her youngest ceaselessly chewing his bottom lip. "Neither of you needs to worry about that, okay?" She tapped a finger under Jay's chin and tilted her head, glancing back and forth between the brothers. The eleven-year-old reluctantly nodded his understanding, the brunette copying the motion hesitantly. "Do you remember what gramps always preached on Christmas?"

Youthful faces lit up, Jay and Will eying one another from the side, genuine smiles spreading first on the eight-year-old's face, then on the redhead's as well. Their tiff momentarily forgotten about they silently counted down from three before reciting in perfect unison, "give to the poor and care of the ill. Random acts of kindness." They grinned and giggled lightheartedly, sharing a mutual memory of a night a few weeks ago when they had repeated those exact words to each other as they planned their secret bake sale. Their grandfather had been all about that motto, had casually introduced them to his own random acts of kindness by taking them to various nursing homes on previous Christmases, cheering up the sick and elderly with Irish Christmas tunes on the guitar and tin whistle, joined by their mother playing the fiddle and Seamus with the bodhran.

Smiling contently to herself, Sadhbh nodded. "That's right. And that's what we'll be doing today, too. We're going to distribute food to those poor unlucky souls who don't have enough money to help themselves to a proper meal," she explained. "Give to the poor." Unsurprisingly, her sons joined in when she spoke those four words, her own enthusiasm from earlier, when she had conjured the idea in honor of her beloved late father, reflecting in their voices and eyes. She laughed blithely as she pushed herself to her feet and steered them towards the center. "Come on."

Volunteer work was something Sadhbh had taken part in from a young age, the very food bank they were at one she had lent a hand in many times. She knew the logistics well, therefore easily appointed her boys appropriate duties. Will ended up in the kitchen, whereas Jay helped serve food, because with his right arm still in a cast there wasn't much he could do. But handing out spoonsful of potatoes thankfully required only one hand. Being out front, he had a front row seat to all the sadness and penury of homelessness. All kinds of different people stumbled through that door, people of all backgrounds, ethnicities and age groups. Their outward appearance intimidated the eight-year-old, shook him to the core. Shabby, torn clothes that barely provided protection against the harsh winter weather Chicago was known for, shoes too small, too big or falling apart at the seams that basically invited melting snow and icy cold to seep in. Hair unkempt and filthy, most of them not even able to cap it with hats. And the horrid smell that made him sick to the stomach. The images and the stench would stay with him for a while.

Jay felt terrible for every single person that was downgraded to seeking help here, was suddenly extremely grateful that he didn't have to live like that. And he felt oh so ashamed and selfish for throwing a fit over something mundane as an unfulfilled wish for a PlayStation. Even more so upon seeing the countless children, children who wanted nothing more than warm clothes and a roof over their head.

One kid in particular caught his attention and tore at his delicate heart. A girl, about the same age and height as him, hair an unruly mop of dirty dark brown curls, highlighted with grime and dust. Her eyes were the brightest turquoise, and it would have been the most beautiful color he had ever seen if it weren't dulled by the horrors of a life on the streets. Wrecked by wet hacking coughs, she was as sick as a dog, a fine sheen of sweat beading on her forehead and she swayed unsteadily in line, occasionally leaning into the side of a haggard man, presumably her father. She wore a tattered, downright corroded poncho at least three sizes too big for her, and socked toes poked through the ripped fabric of shredded shoes.

'Random acts of kindness,' Jay's grandfather's voice echoed in his head, and he knew in that moment that no matter how bad off his own family was money-wise, he needed to help this poor little girl, because she, just like everyone else in this room, had less. So, when it was her turn in the long line of starved people, he spooned a couple extra potatoes onto her plate, something that didn't go unnoticed by the feverish child. She mouthed a shy 'thank you', her dad extending a tiny, tired smile before ushering her to an unoccupied table in the back. Their gratitude spurred the eight-year-old on and for the rest of his shift he made it his mission to scoop a little more than he was supposed to onto the plates of the especially malnourished kids.

But his promise to live up to his grandfather's motto didn't end there. When it was time to leave a few hours later and the three Halsteads left through the large double doors of the depository, Jay caught eye of the girl again. Huddled into the side of her dad, her frame was rippled with shivers in spite of the rather balmy forty-eight degrees, her wafery rain coat doing nothing to protect her against the soft breeze. The brunette halted his steps, looked down on himself, the soft and warm parka and the woolen sweater beneath, then at the lined winter boots. Without second thought, he shrugged out of his coat, ignored his older brothers confused, "What are you doing, Jay?" and hurried across the street with an offhanded, "be right back, mom."

He approached the family of two and tapped the girl on the shoulder whilst he already slipped out of his shoes. The child turned around, bringing her father's attention onto the scrawny boy as well when she shifted her weight in the opposite direction of where they were going. Confusion mixed in with weary suspicion was etched on them both as they faced him, softening slightly when they recognized the kind freckled kid that had provided them with just a little bit extra, such a small gesture that had meant the world to them in that instance. "Here," Jay held out the heavy fabric of his jacket to the girl, nudging it closer when she didn't immediately take it. "This is for you," he stated encouragingly. Her turquoise eyes widened as her frail trembling fingers closed around the soft material. The boy bent down to pick up his shoes and pressed them into her free hand, waiting for her to grab them too. "Merry Christmas," he wished them, smile alight with a genuine smile.

Jay hovered long enough to hear the hitch in the man's breath and the automated "merry Christmas" in reply before he made his way back to his mom and Will on now socked feet. Just before he reached them, he threw one last glimpse over his shoulder. He gazed as the pair shook themselves out of their temporary paralysis, observed from afar as the girl shrugged out of her poncho and into the sleeves of the gifted coat, relishing in the immediate warmth it provided, whilst her father helped her into the boots. When she caught his gaze, she waved at him timidly, then nuzzled into her dad's side, his eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Sadhbh watched from afar, overcome with a myriad of emotions, heart swelling with overwhelming pride and awe. Not for the first time this year and certainly not the last in the years to come, she found herself stumped into speechlessness by this amazing little human being that was her youngest son. Jay was just eight, eight for God's sake. How in the world could an eight-year-old be so incredibly kind and empathetic, so caring and altruistic? His generosity, his eagerness to bring joy to others and take away their sorrows and pains when he himself was robbed of a carefree childhood this past year never ceased to amaze her.

Wobbling with dizziness, Mrs. Halstead reached for Will, her oldest in equal admiration of his younger sibling's selfless actions. He leaned into her side hug, wishing he were more like the brunette. His baby brother was special, the definition of a random act of kindness, and the eleven-year-old vowed to himself that he would try his best to be as good as him, and to always, always look out for that precious little soul, no matter the hardships and obstacles life would throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cherish and protect the people and the things that we have, and don't think about the things that we don't. Random acts of kindness.
> 
> Stay safe and stay healthy and light a candle for those who lost their lives this year.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I love you guys.


	15. In This Travel with No Journey, I Lose ‘til I’m Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay’s previously dulled blue-green eyes conveyed what the youngest Halstead couldn’t voice: he was okay, he was alive, he was right here. They both were, neither of them going anywhere anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. This chapter has been a long time coming. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but things have been rough here for a while with one thing coming after the other like rapid-fire. Not everything is sorted out yet, it's a slow process, but it's getting there.
> 
> This installment is set in 2008. There's a little gap in between the last chapter in that time frame though not by much. I'll treat you to a lot of Mouse here since it's been a while that we've mentioned him and his role in Jay's healing process. I've written three versions of this, all from different perspectives, but eventually decided on Mouse's because it made more sense to tell most of the events from his point of view. You'll see why when you read this, but I'll give you this much: we learn a lot more about the IED attack and the unresolved medical issue I've hinted at way back is finally revealed as well.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Title is from 'Dark Bird is Home' by The Tallest Man on Earth.

Grief was often mistakenly believed to be one single emotion.

However, it was a myriad of them, all twisted into one giant knot, each sentiment a lone thread in this byzantine tangle. Interwoven and impossible to extract, it was a unique enmeshment for everyone suffering it, as versatile as humankind yet marked under the same five-letter term. And while loss first and foremost hit people on an emotional level, it touched upon their physical, mental, and even spiritual layers as well, thus making mourning a holistic involvement. The response it prompted was powerful and overwhelming and plunged a person into a maelstrom of guzzling pain.

Essentially, it was like a vicious disease, a deadly virus exterminating all source of happiness and joy and most of all: hope. This plague raged a war within the human shell, its seed rooted in the heart, growing from there, meandering through the blood vessels and branching into every corner of one’s being. It infected every system, infested every organ, eventually oozed into, and poisoned every single cell of the griever’s body. Mourning could befall each part, each of the twelve circuits that kept this well-oiled machine running. Some were targeted more so than others, some more distinct, others more obscure, but the spectrum of symptoms was extensive, the list impossibly long. As if the excruciating sorrow weren’t enough already, grief gifted this unsolicited bonus of physical manifestations to go along with the misery, thereby turning this devastating ordeal into an inescapable multifaceted experience that left the bereaved in a state of paralyzing aporia.

Many people tended to react to enormous stress with gastrointestinal problems. They ranged from nondescript stomach pains and indigestion to nausea and diarrhea and were often accompanied or brought on by a break from eating habits. The latter could go either direction. Some mourners resorted to consuming unhealthy food and overeating, possibly to compensate for what or rather who was missing. It was an attempt to gorge the hollow feeling in the pit of their stomach. Meanwhile, for others it felt like their entire digestive tract was tied in knots, a behemoth lump residing somewhere in the middle. As a result, they were unable to force anything edible down their throats, supplied meals sparsely and irregularly, or skipped them altogether, often engendering significant weight loss.

Just as frequent as poor dietary choices were disruptions of normal sleeping routines. It wasn’t uncommon for the bereaved to stay in bed for too many hours at a time, literally snoozing the day away. It was a way to escape the harsh new reality that wouldn’t include a beloved person anymore. They sought refuge in unconsciousness, found themselves in a sleeping beauty slumber – only without all the beauty benefits. Instead of feeling refreshed and well-rested, their somnolent state sapped their energy levels and plummeted them into lethargy and depression. Contrary to that, others couldn’t seem to find any respite in sleep. They had trouble falling or staying asleep, tossed, and turned in constant restlessness because they couldn’t put a halt to flashing memories, spiraling thoughts and probably nightmares, too.

Lack of sleep eventually showed. Whether it was the telltale racoon eyes and overall puffy face, or whether it was a general sluggishness and inability to follow a conversation, over time insomnia impaired with brain activity, messed with a person’s coordination, concentration, and cognitive function. The simplest of everyday tasks could seem unbearably hard to perform, as was forging plans and making the easiest decisions. Pretty much the whole concept of organizing one’s life could turn into a near impossible feat when thoughts were constantly preoccupied with the death of a loved one or the events surrounding it. And often, this loss of control over daily routines caused the bereaved to become unsure of themselves, doubt everything they did, adding to the despondency and despair that already dwelt within them.

Aside from that there were plenty other signs, too. Some bordered on hyperactivity, with fingers twitching, fidgeting, or tapping in nervousness, or incessant pacing because it was hard for them to sit still and relax. Some felt too hot, others too cold, had either night sweats or were chilled to the bone. Some were sensitive to light and noise, whereas others couldn’t stand the quiet. A lot of people experienced physical discomfort because of the emotional distress, often presenting as headaches or migraines, back, joint, or overall muscle pains, and quite frequently: genuine heartache.

The list went on and on, an endless variety of symptoms, and because all the systems of the body were interconnected, one physical representation of grief could easily lead to another, maybe even send the mourner on an indefinite ride on a merry-go-round, or much rather: dreary-go-round.

In a nutshell, grief had the power to make a person physically sick. Neglect of basic needs and absence of routine served as a catalyst that demonstrably suppressed the immune system and made the bereaved more susceptible to infections, colds, or other ailments. Thus, it wasn’t unusual for pre-existing health issues to exacerbate under the continuous stress. Especially those that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye and worsened insidiously, such as endocrine disorders or cardiovascular problems, often harbored a not to be underestimated risk to one’s wellbeing. Unfortunately, they were also amongst the most impinged lasting physical manifestations by insufferable agony. Alas, the heartbreak of grieving a beloved over time could quite literally break their heart, provoked excruciating chest pains and shortness of breath to a point where it felt like they were suffering a heart attack. Takotsubo syndrome was what doctors called it, better known as broken heart syndrome.

Decades from now, Jay would realize that his father’s escalating heart disease likely might have stemmed from exactly that. From the day Patrick had learned about his wife’s cancer, the building torment of watching her fade and eventually succumb into nothingness had permanently squeezed at the huge muscle pumping elixir vitae into his body. It was bound to protest at some point, and that point already seemed to approach at a rapid speed if the way senior clutched at his chest in pain following intense drunken arguments was anything to go by. Yet, he refused to heed his son’s pleas to make an appointment with a cardiologist. Pleas that much rather resembled dirges because the twenty-two-year-old couldn’t stand the thought of losing another parent so soon after losing his mom, no matter how strained and toxic their relationship or rather co-existence might be. Instead, the patriarch chose to ignore how mourning the love of his life impacted his health, thereby inadvertently added to the mounting worry, guilt, and despair of his youngest, whose only objective these days was to be there for his father.

Undeniable, however, was the fact that the ranger was tremendously struggling himself. Maybe, possibly, no, unquestionably more so than his old man. Because not only had he seen his mom suffer up close for eight consecutive weeks, had witnessed every miniscule decline in her condition, he also had already been through hell and back before that. Four years of unfathomable harrowing experiences, the worst of them having occurred right before he’d come home. That last one alone could have thrown him off track. Still, he had remained resilient. He’d been steady and sane enough to see himself through two months of treatment in a military hospital halfway across the world. Just as he’d seen his dying mother all the way through to the end of her existence. And maybe, he’d wished that keeping an eye on his dad and looking out for the older Halstead would see him through his own grief as well.

It worked for a while. Somehow, Pat’s anguish gave his life purpose. In fact, it was enough of a distraction from his own agony that he managed to haul himself and stick to a strict quadruple-weekly physical therapy regimen. For three-and-a-half weeks it gave him structure in the external mud he found himself trudging through. But with his father’s defiance, his backlash, his spite, it became harder and harder to keep marching on. The impervious fog that always followed him around nowadays was slowly catching up, threatened to swallow him whole. So, it might have worked for a while, but it only worked for so long, and eventually, it didn’t work anymore.

After five months of stumbling from one horrible scenario into the next, grief and posttraumatic stress – the lines were so blurred by now that he really couldn’t tell them apart anymore – crashed over him in waves, pulling him under. He was drowning in an abysmal puddle, one that was more of an ocean really. An ocean blending fallen comrades’ and innocent bystanders’ blood, their relatives’ and frivolously his own tears, as well as the acrid bile that he spewed after the ghastly night-terrors that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. Hence, after a twenty-five-day marathon of barely sleeping, barely eating, barely surviving Jay fell into this bottomless pit of quicksand, the sludge mercilessly dragging him down.

Three weeks and four days after his mom’s death, his brain was so fried, failing to transmit the proper signals through his nerves into the according limbs, thereby sending him collapsing to the linoleum floor of the rehabilitation center at Mercy Hospital. If it hadn’t been for his physical therapist’s swift reflexes and strong arms catching and thwarting his fall, his descent would have been painful at best. Jay, however, was no longer aware of that for at this point he had already submitted to the blissful oblivion awaiting him. Only for a few minutes. Ironically, his swooning was the wake-up call he needed. It was also the opportunity his therapist had been waiting for to set long overdue necessary interventions in motion.

Ultimately, this was why less than half an hour later Mouse stormed into the reception area. With the collar of his jacket partially upturned, the hood of his sweater inside out and the laces of his shoes untied, everything about him screamed of a wham-bam dash out of his apartment. “Where is he?” he barked as soon as he pushed through the swing doors, foregoing an appropriate greeting. His abrupt and raucous entry startled the receptionist, sent her lopsided blonde ponytail flying as she almost gave herself whiplash to look at him. The young woman was stunned momentarily, her youthful face full of confusion. Greg belatedly realized that the girl, her nametag identified her as Janice, probably had no idea whom he was talking about. “Nico called about my friend, told me to come immediately,” he rushed out, slightly out of breath. “His name is Jay? Jay Halstead.”

Bewilderment morphed into recognition, Janice’s delicate features lighting up in a warm, friendly smile. “Oh! Jay, right. Nico told me to expect you. I’m assuming you’re Mr. Gerwitz?” She waited for his confirmative nod before continuing. “Poor lad’s not doing well, I’m afraid,” she started sympathetically. “We were all surprised when he came back so soon. His drive and commitment are admirable, but honestly, he really needs a breather.” Mouse nodded. He couldn’t agree more. “He’s putting on a brave face, but we can all see he’s hurting. It’s no wonder he broke down earlier,” she blabbed mindlessly.

Greg gawked at her, eyes bulging. “Broke down?” His anxiety skyrocketed, the words making him suddenly so much more afraid of what would await him. Nico, the therapist, hadn’t said much over the phone, just that he needed to come to the rehab center. While he had sounded urgent, he hadn’t given him any details, and frankly he hadn’t asked either, too thrilled had he been to even hear from his fellow ranger. Mouse had been concerned about Halstead, offered his help prior to the funeral, basically demanding that he let him know if he needed anything. But following the ceremony it had been radio silence. Calls remained unanswered, and texts messages were replied to sporadically with clipped ‘I’m fine’s’ that Gerwitz was certain were lies. Ten days ago, they had stopped altogether, leaving the specialist in frenzied worry. So, really, the receptionist merely confirmed what he what he had already known: Jay obviously wasn’t fine. Gripping the counter hard, he inquired apprehensively, “what do you mean he broke down?”

Janice squirmed a little, realizing she might have forestalled the therapist. She offered an apologetic smile, her gaze doe eyed. “Nico didn’t say. He was in a bit of a hurry when he passed by here earlier. But he was going to get Jay’s doctors, so I guess it can’t be good.” The ranger’s eyes searched the young woman’s, silently begging her for more information but it seemed she genuinely didn’t know anything else. He ran a hand through his unruly brown hair, the appendage trembling ever so slightly, and blew out a shaky breath. “They are all down here, waiting for you. Treatment room seven, near the end of the hallway, second to last on the right,” she clarified. “Do you want me to…?”

Mouse shook his head, holding up a hand to brush her off. “Nah, I got it. Thanks.” He pulled the corner of his mouth upwards, forcing a lopsided dimpled grin, but the weak attempt to show his gratitude failed miserably. The receptionist seemed to understand, though, and returned a sympathetic smile.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he stumbled down the hall to the appointed room. Reaching number seven, he was tempted to just barge in there without a warning but thought better of it. He had no idea what would greet him on the other side. Besides, he knew what unexpected noises did to him these days, and he could only presume that his comrade wasn’t faring any better in that department. Halting his steps, he bounced on his heels nervously and knocked. Muffled noises filtered through the thin walls, followed by shuffling footsteps. The door opened a fraction, revealing the physical therapist. “Jay?” Greg found himself asking immediately, once again wasting no time with pleasantries.

Nico, a Latino in his late thirties with long taupe hair slicked back and tied into a tiny man bun, rubbed at his flawlessly trimmed short-boxed beard. His expression was grim, deep creases drawn horizontally across his forehead. “Let’s talk outside for a minute,” he suggested, voice calm and quiet yet tinged with a hint of gravity. He nodded towards a small seating area at the end of the hallway, indicating that they should move their conversation somewhere more private and comfortable, already reaching for Gerwitz’ biceps to gently steer him in that direction.

But the ranger wouldn’t have it. Shaking off the calloused hand, he asserted strongly, “no. I want to see Jay right now. Whatever you want to talk about we can talk about in front of him.” Craning his head, he hoped to catch a glimpse of his friend. However, the Latino’s towering height obscured his view, and upon noticing what the younger man was trying to do, he shut the door behind him and straightened himself up to his full six foot three, contrasting his otherwise placid demeanor. Mouse wasn’t intimidated, though, instead the notion caused anger to boil up within him. “What the hell, man? You asked me to come here, now you’re keeping me from Jay?” he snarled exasperatedly. “What is going on, Nico?” he demanded, infuriated yet frantic, the latter betraying his fear.

The therapist merely held up a hand in a pacifying manner. “Calm down, will ya? You’ll see him in a minute. I just wanted to give you a heads-up before you go in there, guns blazing,” Nico placated, a soft timbre in his words. “I’m not letting you in there all worked up. The last thing Halstead needs right now is you freaking out.” Greg glared at him, fiery cerulean irises battling with the Latino’s unrelenting near black ones. Eventually, he closed his eyes, silently counting to ten in his head. When he opened them again, the fury was gone, replaced by concern. Nodding timidly, he implored the older male to continue. Satisfied with his more collected attitude, the taupe-haired man inquired, “when did you last see Jay?” trying to figure out how much the ranger knew.

Brows furrowed and left eye twitching, Mouse fidgeted with his hands. “The night before the funeral, which was a week after his mom died,” he answered subduedly, briefly glancing at the physical therapist. “I tried to stay in touch after, but he stopped returning my calls and texts a little over a week ago,” he trailed off, teeth pulling at chapped skin on his upper lip. “Why? The receptionist said something about a breakdown. What happened?” The Latino remained quiet for a moment, once more adding to the younger man’s building trepidation. “C’mon man, just tell me what’s going on. How’s Jay?”

Nico heaved a sigh. He wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, much rather he preferred to tackle unpleasant conversations upfront, and he presumed that as a military man Gerwitz probably appreciated a head-on approach as well. So, without beating around the bush any longer, he launched into an abridged version of recent events. “Jay came back here two weeks ago to resume therapy. He looked a little worse for wear, but wasn’t too bad off, all things considered,” he eased into the report. “But his health has been declining rapidly. At some point before he came back, he reinjured his knee. He also lost a considerable amount of weight, and I don’t think he’s sleeping much either if at all.” The Latino’s expression turned grim, his mouth curling into a gloomy smile that unnerved the soldier. “Today, he stumbled in here, white as a sheet, clammy, feverish. I wanted to send him home, but he refused to leave, insisted on sticking to our exercises. Few minutes into the session he fainted on me.”

“He what?” Mouse gushed out, eyebrows raising and jaw dropping. “Dammit, Jay,” he cursed under his breath. For a moment he was angry at his fellow ranger for not taking proper care of himself, but the feeling was wiped away by the preying worry that had been simmering in the previous week, or weeks, plural. Another even stronger emotion took hold of him as well: guilt. When the sergeant had stopped messaging him back, he had put it down to his friend needing space and he’d given him that. Now he couldn’t help but think he should have been more persistent in making sure the other was okay. Maybe he should have gone over to the Halstead residence to check on him, to bring him food, to provide a shoulder to lean on, to…

The snap of a finger tore him from his spiraling thoughts and Nico’s baritone cut through. “Hey, breathe, will ya?” He gulped in a few lungsful of air, just now realizing that he had forgotten that simple task for a minute there. “Don’t blame yourself. This isn’t on you.” Mouse’s grimaced, clearly in doubt. “You know how stubborn Jay is. If you had pushed too hard, he’d only have retreated into his shell even more, you know that better than I do,” the therapist reminded him, arching a brow. Knowing the older man was right, Greg nodded wordlessly. “And to be honest, I think he needed this red flag. So, I called down Dr. Oakes and Dr. Sterling.” The younger man frowned, confused by this clear break from protocol. “Jay wouldn’t go upstairs. Anyway, they hooked him up on saline and a glucose drip for now. But we wanted to discuss a few things with you as his advocate, because God only knows the kid won’t listen to us. He might listen to you though.”

Gerwitz wanted to argue that no, the sergeant wasn’t going to listen to him either. Or anyone else for that matter. That the one person, Jay would have listened to without question, his mom, was six feet under. But he didn’t because somewhere deep down he knew that his comrade trusted him infinitely and if anyone beside his mother had a shot at pulling him out of that hole it was him. A huge responsibility was thrust in his lap here and frankly, he had no clue if anyone should have this much confidence in him right now. Then again, this was Halstead they were talking about here. If it hadn’t been for the younger man’s gallantry and fearlessness, Greg wouldn’t have made it home in one piece. He wouldn’t have made it home, period. He owed Jay his life; the least he could do to pay him back was be the friend to him that the other so desperately needed right now.

So, he squared his shoulders, stood at attention in the way he had been taught years ago on the first day of basic training. He held his head high and focused his gaze straight ahead. Kept his breath even and his heartbeat steady. Almost as if he were preparing to go out on a dangerous rescue mission. In a way it was, only without the prospect of facing unpredictable perilous life or death situations. And, of course, without his steadfast leader by his side, because he was ultimately the one who needed saving. That caused his inhale to shudder momentarily, but it was just a tiny waver. Nodding, he steeled his voice as he asked calmly, “can we go in now?”

Nico regarded him with one final scrutinizing look, grasping for signs that his opposite might not yet have reached the state of calm he needed from him. Seemingly satisfied, he smiled encouragingly and pushed the door open, allowing him entrance into the treatment room. Mouse entered, eyes falling on the two doctors in the middle of the room, Dr. Oakes sitting straddle-legged on a swivel chair, an older woman, whom he vaguely remembered to be Halstead’s endocrinologist, standing ramrod-straight beside him. Jay wasn’t in his field of vision, presumably hidden behind the partition wall segregating a small area from the rest of the room. “Dr. Sterling was it?” She nodded, extending her hand, which he politely shook. “Greg Gerwitz, we met once a couple months ago,” he elaborated which she confirmed. Letting go of her hand, he glanced towards the sitting man, greeting him with a single nod and a brief, “Dr. Oakes.”

Moving further into the room he peeked behind the screen, his eyes falling onto the treatment couch in the corner. “Jay!” His hard-won countenance faltered as he hastily approached and crouched down in front of the woebegone figure that was his friend. Upon hearing his name, Halstead turned his head towards him, just enough to acknowledge his presence. Gerwitz sucked in a breath as he got a glimpse of his comrade’s face. He was pale, ashen almost, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were sunken in, hooded and surrounded by dark circles that spoke of little to no rest. In stark contrast to an overall sleep-deprived puffiness, his cheeks were hollowed and made his facial bones stand out prominently.

Letting his eyes roam further down, Mouse took note of the worn Army t-shirt and sweatpants, both of which hung loosely off the sergeant’s frame. Too loose, looser even than just a few weeks ago when he had seen him last, verifying what Nico had already mentioned: the ranger had lost weight, considerably so, leaving his already slender frame even skinnier. If he were to guess, he’d say the younger man had dropped about fifteen pounds, maybe more. All in all, he was the depiction of misery, looking oh so small and fragile on the narrow exam table. “Jesus, Jay. You look awful,” he breathed out, unable to hide the quiver of worry that laced his tone.

Jay averted his gaze. “I’m fine,” he dismissed his comrade, though his unnaturally husky and frail voice strongly contradicted the statement. As did the tremble and bleakness that rang with it. Jay fixed his eyes on the IV line snaking out of his right arm and started picking at the medical tape holding the needle in place. Until Gerwitz gently pried his fingers away from it, instantly noting the persistent tremor and how cold the limb was. Raising his eyes again, the sergeant’s Maui blue met Greg’s cerulean orbs. Torment reflected in them, a despairing anguish that nearly broke the specialist’s heart. He felt the strong urge to hug the ailing man to take all that pain away from him, but knew it wouldn’t be appreciated, so he settled on squeezing the freezing hand a little tighter, thankful that the other didn’t pull away.

An ostentatious cough caught their attention, judging by the female pitch it was Dr. Sterling’s. “Fine isn’t a term I would use to describe your condition, Mr. Halstead,” she broke through the silence. Mouse rolled his eyes incredulously. Of course, Jay wasn’t fine; they all knew and could see that. He threw a murderous glare in her direction, but the endocrinologist was unfazed. “Aside from the obvious, the latest blood work is cause for concern,” she stated, pulling a chair over to the foot end of the treatment couch. She sat down, crossing her legs at the knees and opened a file on her lap. “In fact, it’s rather alarming.” The woman raised her eyes, gaze first directed at her patient, then settling on Mouse.

Suddenly remembering which medical field the older doctor specialized in, Gerwitz gulped. There was a valid reason why Jay needed regular check-ups with an endocrinologist, and it was a reason that had very nearly cost his friend his life. He shuddered.

Memories washed over him in waves. Blurry images of the explosion. The glinting piece of metal propelling towards and striking the younger ranger at the junction of the clavicle and neck. The sickening sound of shattering bone. The breath had been knocked out of Halstead momentarily, but astonishingly he’d never lost consciousness. Adrenaline had kept him awake to the point of hypervigilant. The wondrous natural drug allowed the leader to intrepidly guide them through the flurry of action, through the never-ceasing gunfire and away from distant explosions that followed the initial IED attack. A courageous act that shouldn’t have been humanly possible considering the injuries he had sustained.

Frankly, Greg had been too out of it himself to grasp how grave a threat blunt force trauma to such a vulnerable part of the human body had been to his friend’s health. Realization hadn’t hit until much later. In the relative safety of the chopper, Jay, who had courageously dragged him and another member of their unit to the extraction site, had started choking as soon as adrenaline crashed. A painful wheezing sound sucked in and squeezed out of the lungs. Through the haze of his own concussion, all he could remember were the snatches of medical jargon hauled around the helicopter. Increasing respiratory distress. Inspirational stridor. Emergency tracheal intubation. Palpable mass near the thyroid gland. Three days later, right before he was granted visitation of his friend in the medical center in Landstuhl, Germany, doctors had relayed the full extent of it. Halstead’s left thyroid lobe had ruptured as a direct result from the blow, the laceration steadily hemorrhaging the surrounding areas. An inferior artery supplying the organ had suffered and sluggishly bled as well. The latter had been fixed, but the injury to the left lobe of the gland had been too severe, thus necessitated a hemithyroidectomy, the removal of half the organ.

Jay had been intubated for nearly two weeks, and even after he had been extubated a painful wheezing had remained for another two before eventually subsiding. A thick hoarseness to his voice had been lingering even longer, particularly prominent in the mornings and when the young man hadn’t spoken for a while, and to this day it was still raspy on occasion. But none of that compared to the horrible sound of him gasping for air, a sound that haunted Gerwitz every time he closed his eyes, reminding him that, had the metal rod hit his comrade just and inch to the right, had it connected with the windpipe instead of the thyroid, the sergeant – and ultimately him and Hollingsworth as well – would have died that day in the Korengal hellhole.

Ensnared in the flashing thoughts, Mouse almost missed the imperceptive yet firm squeeze on his hand, the same sentiment that he had extended minutes earlier reciprocated. He blinked a few times, focusing on the figure laying on the treatment couch. Jay’s previously dulled blue-green eyes were as clear as the Maldivian waters, filled with deep sympathy and understanding. They conveyed what the youngest Halstead couldn’t voice: he was okay, he was alive, he was right here. They both were, neither of them going anywhere anytime soon. It was a promise, a small solacing act yet overwhelmingly powerful, and oh so typical for the man he had fought side by side with. Reassuring the specialist when really, it was the sergeant who needed to be comforted for he was the one who had just lost the one person that meant more than anyone else in this world. Why did his friend have to be so infuriatingly altruistic all the time?

Although he was mildly annoyed by the fact, Gerwitz was grateful at the same time because however insignificant the gesture might seem to the medical staff in the room, it was the lifeline both soldiers needed. It grounded them, rooted them to the here and now when their torturous minds tried to suck them into the horrendous pits of their respective memories. Maybe it wasn’t as selfless an act as he had thought after all, but in fact Halstead’s way of reaching for an anchor himself, something real, something steady, something to fight for. It was this insight that had him capture the spindly fingers of his comrade in between his and pierce him with an intense, determined stare. Vowing just with his eyes that he always, always had the other man’s back and would help him through his agonizing grief, no matter what. And he knew his silent pledge was heard when some of that shimmering anguish in those Maui blues abated, making room for immense gratitude, a single imperceptive nod from Jay verifying that his message was received.

Satisfied, Greg’s mouth twitched into a dimpled half-smile, sobering only when he fixed his gaze back on the endocrinologist. He inhaled deeply, then spoke with newfound calm and confidence as he took his role of spokesman, just like he had too many times to count in recent months. “I was under the impression that there were no complications from the thyroid surgery aside from the post-op symptoms. You checked everything two months ago. Everything was fine back then, right?” Cerulean irises searched Dr. Sterling’s muddy-brown eyes for an answer.

“They were,” the doctor confirmed. “But let’s not forget that the with the left lobe missing the right must overcompensate, hence the need for frequent monitoring. Add stress to the mix, something the thyroid is hypersensitive to, it’s bound to act out,” she initiated, pulling a sheet out of the folder as she spoke. “Now, these are the results of a blood panel we did yesterday,” she explained, her flat palm coming to rest on the paper, “and they’re telling us that the thyroid markers are all over the place. T3 and T4 are on the low end whereas TSH is way off the charts.”

Greg stared at her with a blank expression, the medical terms meaning absolutely nothing to him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the same confusion stretched across Jay’s features, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was genuine interest in what was going on, and how much of it was dismay at being told there was yet another thing wrong with him. Maybe it was a little bit of both. “Meaning?” he inquired, frowning as he worried his upper lip in concentration.

Dr. Sterling clasped her hand over the folder and studied Jay, then shifted her eyes back and forth between her patient and Mouse. “Meaning that we’re looking at an underactive thyroid right now. Much as has been the case after the surgery, it’s not producing enough thyroid hormone at the moment, which is disrupting the regulation of metabolism, body temperature and cognitive function, among others. We must substitute levothyroxine again, starting with a high dose for now, maybe kickstart with selenium too since that’s rather low right now as well but vital for normal thyroid function.” She paused, fleetingly glancing at Gerwitz again, a strange look on her face that the specialist had a hard time reading. “Needless to say,” the endocrinologist continued at a slower pace, “this requires continuous monitoring, I’d say blood work every two weeks for as long as we tweak the dosage until we find the right one.”

“Is that really necessary?” a breathy voice came from Greg’s left. Jay’s distinctive huff startled him, and for a moment he braced himself for a pending argument about his lack of selfcare, but when his eyes fell on the twenty-two-year-old he realized that the puff of air wasn’t at all disregard or even defiance of an essential medical intervention. There might have been a tiny hint of both, but it barely concealed the raw emotion behind it: fear. No, scratch that, it was panic, bordering on sheer terror, something Mouse had not once seen his comrade express in the four years of knowing him, not even when they had stared death straight in the eye.

Mouth stretching into a grim smile, Dr. Sterling nodded, her voice holding nothing but sympathy as she confirmed. “Unfortunately, yes, it is.” Twisting around in her chair uncomfortably, she glanced behind her at the other doctor and the physical therapist in the room, holding a mute conversation with both males. The specialist observed the spiel warily, brows knitted skeptically as he noted the grave expressions on their faces. As he struggled to figure out what was going on, he all the while squeezed his comrade’s hand in what was supposed to be a comforting way, even though he was utterly confused and slightly unnerved.

He was just about to demand an answer from either the doctors or Nico, when Dr. Oakes stood from the swivel chair, he’d watched from in silence the entire time and approached the treatment couch. Heaving a sigh and clearing his throat, he elaborated in the matter-of-factness and straightforwardness that Mouse was used to from the orthopedist. “Jay here is borderline panicking every time he needs to go upstairs for testing.” Greg blinked, eyebrows raising in disbelief. His eyes flitted towards Halstead, who decidedly glanced away, face scrunched up in embarrassment. “Imaging, blood draws, simple physical exams, doesn’t matter what kind of tests. Most likely this was brought on by the fact that his mother died,” the hitched inhale from the ailing sergeant was unmistakable and not at all unexpected, but the doctor continued anyway, “somewhere in this very hospital.”

A lump formed in Gerwitz’ throat and he found it nearly impossible to swallow past it. Watching his friend, the way his bottom lip quivered ever so slightly and the muscles around his eyes twitched in a desperate attempt to keep the tears that glistened in them from falling tugged at his heart. And when Jay snatched his hand from the specialist’s grasp, denying himself that simple comforting touch, it nearly broke him. Shaky fingers rubbed away the traitorous salty moisture before they dropped to his leg, nails digging painfully into the thigh muscle there. Mouse followed the movement, just now noting that his comrade was wearing the cricket pad splint again, recalling him of what the therapist had said about Halstead reinjuring the joint, just another reminder of the younger ranger’s misery. But that wasn’t important right now.

Shaking his head, he focused on the trembling figure before him instead. He wanted to say something, but words failed him, so he reached out, touching his brother-in-arm’s right biceps, reestablishing contact, providing what little comfort he could. Jay stilled momentarily under the touch, his only sign of recognition, but he didn’t shy away, which was enough for Mouse right now. Rubbing soothing circles into the pale freckled skin, he let his gaze wander around the room, locking with each of the pair of eyes of the other occupants. “What… How do…?” he stuttered, voice cracking with overwhelming concern.

Nico stepped forward, immediately getting what he was asking. Clearing his throat, he offered, “this is actually the main reason I called you. Before I started here, I was working over at the Adam Benjamin Jr.’s.” Upon seeing the confusion on Greg’s face, he elaborated, “the VA medical center.” The Latino paused, waiting for Mouse’s nod before resuming. “I still volunteer there occasionally, and I took it upon me to reach out and ask whether we could continue treatment there. Not that he’s not getting proper care here, but seeing as Jay is a ranger, they would be better equipped to handle his injuries anyway. Frankly, he should have gone there for treatment in the first place, but we all know the circumstances. It’s not like he would have conformed to the idea before.”

Silence momentarily settled over the five of them as they each reminisced about those before Greg spoke, voice still thick but steadier than a minute earlier. “So, a change of scenery of sorts,” he summarized what the physical therapist had said. The towering man confirmed. “I think that might not be a bad idea. This place holds too many bad memories.” He mumbled the last part, realizing that the statement didn’t just ring true for his friend, but to some extent for him as well. “And you think you can make this happen?” Nico nodded once more. “When?”

“I’ll have to talk to a few people, figure out schedules, open treatment rooms in the rehab center and such, but we could transition over there as soon as next week, I’d say.” Mouse tugged his lips between his teeth, glancing at the tense man on the exam table contemplatively. “You’re on board with this, I take it?” the Latino queried just to make sure. Greg looked up, nodding assertively, pulling a small smile from the therapist. “Jay?” The younger man turned his head in his direction, eyes remaining glued to a loose thread of his t-shirt, never meeting anyone else’s gaze, almost as if it would keep them from seeing his grief-stricken expression. He did, however, acknowledge the idea with a single bop of the head, more than any of them could have hoped for. “Alright, let me make a few calls, set things in motion. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Mouse mouthed his thanks, doing the same as the two doctors excused themselves as well, Dr. Sterling declaring that she would check on the IV drip in half an hour and that Halstead should get some rest in the meantime, but Gerwitz only partially listened to her. Instead, he found himself studying his friend, wondering just how the younger man deserved any of this. He wasn’t a religious man, but as he sat by his sergeant’s side, he couldn’t help but sent a prayer that he would get through this, extending a message to Jay’s deceased mom, reassuring her that he would keep the promise he had made to her not too long ago, to keep looking out for him. He could do this. It might take some work, but he would get Jay through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this installment was worth the long wait. I hate to ask this of you, but since I've had a few stressful weeks, I'd really appreciate it if you dropped a review on this. It would mean the world to me.
> 
> Next chapter will take place in 2018 with focus on Jay and Will. Not sure how long it will take, updates will slow down since I don't have anything finished right now and writing time is far and in between, but I hope to post within the next month.
> 
> Anyway, stay safe and vigilant!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to Annett, a loving wife, a caring mother to her daughters, and a guide and mentor to so many others. At fifty-two, she was too young to die. But she left a huge impact, inspired many people including me. I haven't known her for long, but she taught me a lot about myself and about life. Three years after her passing I still miss her, but I honor her every day in the way I'm living. Annett, you are always in our hearts.


End file.
